Severed Halves of A Whole
by mydinosaurprom
Summary: Six months have elapsed since Brittany whispered that Santana belonged somewhere else... with someone else. New York might represent a new beginning, but there always seems to be something missing. How can someone move on with their life when they're still plagued with old feelings that never seem to fade? How can someone move forward when they keep looking back?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

__I've done several fan fiction stories before, but this is my first Glee fic. I wanted to explore the Santana in New York sans Brittany storyline that has been presented. This fic is canon up until 4x13 Diva.

* * *

There are many choice words to describe Santana Lopez. She's heard any number of them hurled at her throughout the course of her life. The words are expressed with different tones and inflections. They all have specific, intended purposes, and thus strike various chords within her. No matter what she's been called, they all elicit a reaction.

Some terms she's been called are kinder than others. These are the words used by loved ones. Her parents have always used cherished colloquialisms with her. They are words spoken in Spanish whose English translations never quite capture their affection. Other things she has been called were whispered softly, intimately into her ear. Those phrases of love used to strike her as empty, just meaningless verbal fluff to encourage sexual promiscuity. However, she's found that when a certain blue-eyed girl spoke using those same sentiments… they felt different. They registered somewhere deeper inside her, somehow filling her heart with warmth. Those words always sped up her pulse and weakened her knees. Those were her favorite things to be called. _Honey, sweetie, baby_…

There are some are terms she's just getting used to labeling herself with. These words feel alien in her mouth as she says them—terms whose connotation denote a particular lifestyle choice or a specific sexual orientation. They're things that she's said about other people, usually when she was fiercely trying deflect questions about her own sexuality. Coming out was difficult for Santana and she has only semi-recently admitted the words' application to her own life. They're words that used to carry secrets and guilt—but now describe pride and community. _Gay, lesbian, dyke…_

Other words that Santana has been called are harsh, cruel syllables meant to shame. Those words cut deep when she hears them, burrowing down inside her like a splinter. Those descriptors are usually referencing her attitude or her habit of unfiltered brutal honesty, or even a commentary on her lack of self worth. Those hurt when they're directed towards her, but they build up her fortitude. She will never apologize for who she is, she tells herself whenever she tries to remove that splinter from her heart. _Bitch, slut, worthless…_

There will always be vernacular to utilize when trying to verbalize the complexity and depth of her life.

However, despite whatever series of letters one might attribute to explain her, Santana is not what one might deem an optimist. She isn't a self-described pessimist either, though some might attest that this is false. She doesn't see things in terms of "glass half full" or even "glass half empty"—as much as it may seem like she places life events and situations into these two categories. She doesn't believe in dichotomies: one or the other, white or black, _this _or_ that_. Santana considers herself to be a realist.

Santana knows that life hands everyone choices. She knows that the choices made alter the outcomes and directions of her life. She knows that she's made some bad decisions, ones that never seem to escape her.

Even on nights like tonight, where everything seems perfect and preordained to be just exactly as they are, Santana knows that there is something that will always be missing. Even as she recoils from the boisterous cacophony of sound erupting from her roommates' mouths, she knows that this exact scene could be improved subtly, if only she'd made different choices in her life.

Thankfully, it becomes hard to dwell on the missing pieces of her life when her roommates never let their refurbished once-factory-now-a-loft-slash-studio space in Bushwick fall into silence (except when they're asleep). Every waking moment is an opportunity to sing, dance, and speak in soliloquies. While it becomes hard to have small moments to reflect with these two around, there's not much about them that Santana would change. If you'd asked her roughly a year before where she assumed she'd be at the present moment, she would have given you a much different answer. She might have said in college, or in Los Angeles recording an album, or maybe even she would have guessed New York. She never would have been able to predict the circumstances that got her here. She also would never have been able to guess that the one consistent part of each of her "year from now" scenarios wouldn't turn out to be so constant after all.

As Santana gazes at the dramatic hand gestures and shudders at the extremely grating vocal ranges that her roommates are employing in this most recent conversation, she can't help but to recede back into her own mind. If she lets her mind stray enough, she tends to fantasize about the missing parts of her life, adding to the scene before her different elements, as one might Photoshop something into a picture. She still sees Rachel, squawking about Julie Andrews' missing out on portraying the iconic Eliza Doolittle in the film adaptation of _My Fair Lady_ to Audrey Hepburn. She still hears Kurt shriek in agreement before launching into the first few lines of "I Could Have Danced All Night" in his feminine troubadour falsetto. She still sees the wine in their cheap glasses sitting on the coffee table, blissfully undisturbed as Rachel joins in, sauntering around the room. She sees the shimmering lights of a much bigger world waiting right outside their windows, so near but still so far away. She still hears the rumble of life happening all around her, as she's perched, so close, on the precipice of that big break that will give her life direction. These things are all still there as she dreams, wide-awake.

The part that she always inserts into this dreamlike scene unfolding before her is something simple. It is a pressure behind her neck, an arm wrapped around her shoulders as she leans her head back against it. It is warmth emanating from a body as it sits closely coiled next to her. It is a scent, a lingering tenderness from slight skin contact, and a presence absent from her that makes her ache deep down into her bones. In this dream, she can turn her head and know that her eyes will find a pair gazing back into hers, a sharp blue that seep into hers. They're blue like a cloudless sky when happy, dark like choppy waters when lustful, pale like a robin's egg when sad. They're wide eyes, expressive, and somehow depthless. They see further into her soul than anything else ever has. They belong to the only person who Santana thinks has ever really known her. They belong to the only person who she desperately wishes was still there.

Santana drops her head, unable to maintain the charade that she's actively listening to her roommates' Broadway discussion. She cannot think of anything besides the lack of pressure behind her neck, the absence of warmth next to her, and the missing blue eyes. She thinks back to how she suffers for the decisions that she's made, but being the proud Latina that she is, always tries not to dwell on them—until she can't anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

* * *

Trained in the art of emulating human emotion on stage, Rachel and Kurt are not oblivious to Santana's sudden changes in demeanor. She has a tendency to suddenly still and go silent. She does it nearly every time they have a roommate wine night. Friday nights, they clear their schedules to spend the evening sipping pinot grigio (purchased with Santana's fake ID) like real adults and just talk. These talks cover a myriad of topics. It took four bottles of wine to help Rachel get over Brody when they broke up in the spring. It only took two to convince Kurt to take Blaine back. Santana and Brittany's strained post-break up attempt at friendship is never a topic of discussion.

It always happens the same way.

Initially, Santana speaks animatedly about the past week. She hostesses at a restaurant downtown and always shares something from her repertoire of stories of drunken celebrities and public fights. Even when the conversation shifts to Kurt or Rachel's assignments for NYADA, she still listens thoughtfully and provides suggestions when she can. As they drink more, she tends to loosen up a bit. She laughs and leaps about, partaking in their play-acting or impromptu dance numbers. If she's in a particularly good mood, she might even go so far as to sing with them (it does happen-every now and then). Those are the best parts of the evening, they agree.

Inevitably… there's a shift.

It starts when they're all considerably drunk. The conversation always ends up back in Lima. Santana usually joins in when they start to bring up their glory days in glee club. She is quick to relive times when Rachel sang something terrible ("Run Joey Run" is a favorite to bring up). She laughs at memories when Kurt's outfits failed miserably (she _hates_ his Hippo broach with a passion). But then something will always remind her of Brittany- even when they don't say her name, or even delve into specifics. It's hard to talk about their high school days without acknowledging Santana's once ever-present other half.

That's when everything changes.

It is as if the entire mood of the evening shifts. The conversation stills and then altogether stops. Santana tucks her knees up to her chest and pours herself another drink. Curled into herself, she nurses her wine glass with a faraway look on her face. Her roommates share an awkward bout of eye contact and then scramble to change the subject to something else. But it's usually too late. Santana rarely reengages with them after they've brought up the past, and Lima, and the sentiments that remain there.

Santana usually just spends the remainder of the evening deep in thought until all the wine is gone. Sometimes she'll politely feign silent interest in their conversations, only shifting to pour herself more wine while they continue to practice theatricality or whatever else they're embroiled in. It goes unspoken, but they all know that the chemistry between them is different by that point. This routine always leads to the same end. While Kurt and Rachel know how to read nonverbal cues in body language, they also know Santana. They can always tell what she's thinking about when that melancholia creeps over her. The look on her face, the increased drinking, and the deep silence… it all points to one particular blue-eyed blonde.

* * *

In the six months they have been living together, her roommates have become keenly aware of the differences between _seeing _someone at school every day and _living_ with that person. Santana is essentially the same girl they knew back in Lima, but nothing could have prepared them for the intricacies of her psyche. She used to interact with them employing a sense of detached annoyance in high school. This was the dominant side of Santana Lopez that they came to know. However, spending long, extending periods of time with her somehow yield a totally different person underneath her bitchy exterior. Her viciously cruel one-liners and rude comments have somehow evolved into a weird sort of lovable snarky affection for them. She would never admit to actually enjoying Rachel and Kurt's company, but she doesn't have to.

Constantly being around one another forces them all to remove the walls they've unconsciously constructed. All pretenses drop and the different aspects of each of their personalities emerge, for better or worse. Rachel loves New York wholeheartedly, but also misses her fathers. Kurt and Santana have both taken turns sitting with her when she's feeling homesick and watching _Funny Girl. _Before moving in, Santana wasn't sure that she had ever seen Rachel vulnerable. But instead of mocking this side of her roommate, Santana just makes sure that she brings Rachel her favorite dessert from the restaurant on her way home. More times than she can count, she's wrapped them both in a large blanket and shared the vegan apple tart with her sobbing friend. She wasn't even compelled to gag as they traded a single fork back and forth, watching Fanny Brice on screen.

Kurt, on the other hand, turns out to be a total bathroom hog. Santana and Rachel always suspected in high school that he took forever to get ready. What they didn't anticipate was his insanely rigorous schedule of hygienic pursuits. Daily, Kurt wakes up two hours earlier than necessary so he can groom himself without interruption. There have been a multitude of times that Santana has missed her subway train because she couldn't get into the bathroom due to Kurt's extensive routine.

In turn, Santana's unexpected emotional softening has transformed her into a kinder version of the girl Kurt and Rachel knew at McKinley High. While not entirely compassionate and gentle all the time, the difference within her is obviously noticeable. Santana has always been an emotional person, they know, but the sentiment she usually exuded was annoyed indifference. They never anticipated how deeply sensitive she is. This is the side of her personality that manifests itself after the noticeable shift that occurs during the roommate wine night. This side of Santana emerges when she can no longer ignore the battle that constantly wages within her or the alcohol she's consumed has converted her into a weepy drunk.

The loft space, while abundantly blessed with high-ceilings and a manageable rent, features no concrete walls. The cloth curtain dividers they use to denote their own personal space don't work as audible barriers. Rachel and Kurt can both recall nights that they've been kept awake in their own beds, in the muffled quiet of the shared home, by the quiet sobbing of their third roommate. Each has questioned the decision to lie still, without indicating that they're not asleep, instead of going to her in comfort. They choose instead to bear the same cross as Santana, silently, from feet away. They lay in the dark, together but so distant, and remember. They all seem to ponder the same question: _what if?_

Rachel tried comforting Santana once- the first time that she heard the crying. She'd approached Santana's carved-out niche in the loft with quiet bare feet, poking her head through the gap in the curtain. In a low, calming voice she'd asked if Santana was all right and received, in turn, a quiet but firm "fuck off, Rachel" in response. Since then, they'd all chosen to not discuss Santana's weekly ritual of burying her face into her pillow and sobbing until she fell asleep. After it had happened, the next morning they all went about their business as usual. Rachel would do her vocal warm up exercises while making tea. Kurt would spend hours in the bathroom fixing his hair before emerging to sit at the kitchen table to read the paper. Santana would eat her cereal, using Rachel's soymilk (which usually led to arguments- but never on mornings that followed crying spells). No one would mention how collectively they were up until almost three because that's when Santana was able to drift off.

It is out of pure kindness, they know, that they don't press her for a better understanding of what pains her so much. They don't have to now that they know her exceedingly well. The Santana they live with isn't the same as in high school. She's still bitchy and mean at times- but there is so much good in her. It is such a surprising realization, the volume of the affection and love she has to offer (only when she decides to) that they are constantly amazed at the parts of her that they get the pleasure to become acquainted with.

The Santana back at McKinley would never come home from a late shift hostessing with a sack of warm donuts she'd picked up from their favorite late night shop on the way home. She never would have remembered that Rachel eats the ones with a special vegan vanilla icing, or that Kurt loves the cream-filled ones (insert gay joke here, Santana always muses). But she does now. She does dishes and takes out the trash, keeps her belongings to her own area of the loft. She tries so hard to be perfect that sometimes all they want to do is tell her that it's ok to not be—but they don't. Still a residual personality trait, Santana seems avoid signs of weakness.

In return for the donuts, the late night talks and roommate camaraderie, there is a nonverbal understanding that there is a part of her life that Santana does not give them access to. She locks this portion away and it becomes in everyone's best interest to not press the matter. It is the part of her that peaks out during their roommate wine nights, which leads to the eventual tears. Crying in the dark falls into the category of "don't ask don't tell" aspects of their life with Santana. There's a specific name that continues to go unspoken within the walls of the loft. The name comes with a reverence around it so great that Rachel and Kurt don't dare mention _her_ because they're mostly sure that they couldn't bear to break the spell. So they don't talk about her, even when they all know that she's there, in the corner of Santana's mind, always.

Rachel and Kurt both know that this is the one crack in Santana's usually polished façade. They know how hard she furiously works, day in and day out, to pretend that there is no obvious gash in her heart. They don't let on that they both suspect that she internally barters with god or the devil to fill the empty space with someone else, but it hasn't happened. They understand the cause of the tears, even if Santana has never vocally told them what happened. They don't pry—they can't. They can't bear to be the ones to ask her to acknowledge the blemished veneer she tries to hide.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

* * *

Very little was known about why exactly Santana showed up and moved in when she did. Aside from an altogether terrifying rant senior year about how she was "a thousand percent sure" she would make it big—Rachel and Kurt had never heard her discuss any dreams of attempting to make something of herself in New York. Her arrival in the city and sudden title of "the other roommate" were an unexpected surprise, but not necessarily a bad one. Though she offered no opportunity for them to dispute her moving in, they later admitted that they probably wouldn't have objected anyway. The arrangement that they'd settled into seemed to benefit everyone.

Honestly, Rachel was overjoyed to have another girl in the loft. She'd never had a lot of female friends and hoped that she could grow close with Santana. Rachel had aspirations that the two would bond over late night talks about feelings, practice make up tutorials on one another and eat ice cream together while stricken with monthly cramps. She also salivated at the duet possibilities the two of them could sing, planning numbers where she could harmonize effortlessly with Santana's beautifully raspy voice- but she kept those set lists to herself until karaoke nights. Though Santana hadn't immediately been open to any of those suggested "roommate bonding" activities, she had eventually acquiesced to showing Rachel how to correctly shape her eyebrows. However, she rationalized this as doing something of a favor for humanity, as opposed to forming a friendship with the other girl.

Kurt relished the fact that he had another gay person to live with. While he enjoyed hearing gossip from Rachel about her myriad of straight problems, Santana's entrance into their little family meant that someone else would be able to relate with him in a way Rachel just couldn't. Yes, they both dated the same gender. However, there was something bonding about their mutually tumultuous coming out experiences. Santana was also more apt to go to gay bars than Rachel and while Kurt was single, operated as a better "wing lady." Rachel, while loving and kind, seemed a bit too eager to articulate to potential hook-ups that Kurt was "immaculately groomed and STD free." This tended to dampen the mood. Kurt offered to play wingman for Santana on multiple occasions but she always refused politely. He stopped asking; he knew that when the time was right to find someone, she would have no problem. Every time they went to a gay bar, Santana had to fend off suitors incessantly. Once she even claimed Rachel was her girlfriend to get a particularly friendly woman to leave her alone. While Rachel basked in the flattery that people would think she was hot enough to be with Santana, Kurt observed the despondent attitude and slumped shoulders of the Latina. She didn't want to have to find someone else, he realized, she wanted the one that got away.

Kurt and Rachel often wondered what Santana got out of all of this. Why move in with them? She could have just as easily escaped to Los Angeles and moved in with Mercedes. If asked, Santana might have struggled to articulate what motivated her move to New York. When she'd considered the same question lying awake at night, she knew the answer, even when she didn't want to admit the truth behind her reasoning. Los Angeles was sunny and bright, filled with golden and blue tones everywhere you looked. New York was a bleak, grey blur of buildings and constant distractions. Santana could walk down the street here and not be constantly bombarded with the same colors that flashed before her eyes when she used to make love to Brittany. Part of her didn't feel like she deserved to be somewhere with a seemingly happy ambiance. She deserved detached crowds of people, quick rude social interactions and shoulders that slammed into yours as you walked down the street. This was her form of self-flagellation; this city was how she attempted penance for her sins.

* * *

The chunk of time between Santana's move to Kentucky in the fall and the early February morning when she showed up at their door was a complete mystery. After several grueling weeks of prying, they'd managed to get her to admit that she'd dropped out. However, the reasoning behind what motivated her to give up a full scholarship to a good university remained a question mark. They had theories but no answers. It wasn't until Blaine visited New York over Spring Break that they even understood a fragment of the magnitude of what Santana was dealing with inside.

It took several days for Blaine to bring up the subject—perhaps because they kept him so busy. They spent several days bumming around the city, showing Blaine all the obvious attractions first. Once they were done with the Statue of Liberty and Empire State visits, they delved into the tiny, often-ignored parts of New York. They took him to locations that one would never find on a map of tourist destinations: their favorite Jewish deli with the best marble rye they've ever tasted, the largest rock in Central Park where Rachel and Kurt drank their first cup of coffee upon arriving (it's now where they meet for gossip sessions between classes), or the dingy jazz bar where they go to role play that they're sophisticated Prohibition-era socialites.

Midway through their excursion to a gallery (one that happens to serve the best free wine during artists' openings), Santana realized how this city has become home. She was more herself here than in Lima. These two roommates were more than just people that helped her make rent—together they comprised a tiny family. They kept each other afloat in the midst of the giant world around them. The thought almost brought tears to her eyes. The "mean New York streets" were making her into a softy, she mused, instead of hardening her spirit. She smirked at her own sentimentality and then helped herself to the rest of Rachel's wine.

Early the next evening, Santana had to return to the real world. Rachel, Kurt, and Blaine played game after game of _Celebrity_; she headed out for her hostess job. She was slightly envious, as she got ready. They got the week of Spring break off from classes and could hang out and drink; she had to work. Luckily for her, it was a short four-hour half shift. As she headed out, she told them to text their plans for the evening so she could meet up after work. With a wave, she shut the heavy sliding door behind her and was gone. They played two more rounds of _Celebrity_ before Blaine inadvertently brought up the real reason behind Santana's sudden appearance in New York.

It wasn't as if her leaving caused the conversation to surface. The topic came up in the midst of discussion about the night's activities. In retrospect, they were all lucky that Santana was absent when Blaine accidentally mentioned something. He had no clue that she'd has chosen to avoid speaking about what transpired. He simply made an off-handed comment that caused Rachel and Kurt's heads to quickly snap to look him in the eyes.

"I bet neither of you ever dreamed you'd be living here with Santana," he joked. They'd been deciding on which karaoke in Midtown to grace with their talent that evening. Kurt was doing the New York Times word puzzle as Rachel glanced through a magazine. It was a normal early evening Saturday, all things considered (aside from Blaine's presence). They usually lay around until Santana's shift ended and then went out together.

"Not in a million years," Kurt laughed, tapping his pen on the newspaper in front of him. "But it all works… for some weird reason." Rachel nodded with a smile, her fingers deftly turning the pages of the _New Yorker_.

"It's so strange how life turns out. I mean… Santana seems happy enough. I'm surprised she's doing so well here," Blaine had said innocently enough, sipping tea that Rachel had made. "God, she was a mess when she left Lima. I can't imagine how I'd react in that situation. I'd probably be too depressed to function for like—an entire year. Anyway, it's so strange… I never thought that I'd _actually be glad_ that Santana Lopez was coming out to do karaoke with us tonight. I'd love to do a duet with her…" He trailed off when he noticed the stunned look on the others' faces. "What?"

"What… what happened in Lima?" Kurt managed to ask. His hand reached over and gripped Rachel's knee almost subconsciously. They had no idea that there might be terrible circumstances that resulted in Santana coming to New York. Honestly, they'd just assumed that she'd just wanted to come to a city with as big of an ego as her's. She was so cocky and self-assured when she'd arrived that they'd just assumed she'd finally gotten fed up with Kentucky and headed to start her future in the Big Apple. Blaine's thick eyebrows rose in surprise.

"She…she didn't tell you what happened, did she?" He sounded shocked, like what had happened was so grand that he couldn't fathom keeping it all from roommates for so long. He leaned to set his teacup down and then crossed his legs, preparing for the story. Part of him hated having to divulge Santana's personal and painful business, part of him knew that he owed it to Kurt and Rachel to tell them what she obviously couldn't. If anything, it might shed some light into what she was going through so that they could help her move on. He hesitated for just a moment and then started to speak.

* * *

Blaine told Kurt and Rachel everything exactly as it had been told to him. He'd heard it all from Sam, directly after Santana's sudden departure from Lima. He didn't editorialize or add in his two cents; he kept the story as true to events as possible.

They'd been sitting in the library studying for an upcoming test. He was buried in a math book when he'd noticed that Sam was distracted. Sam was usually distracted while studying, but today he seemed… particularly off. There was something about his demeanor that indicated that he wanted to get something off his chest but didn't quite know how to articulate that he wanted Blaine to listen.

"You ok?" Blaine asked. He watched Sam consider the question, resisting the urge press him any further. Sam was hesitant to share but eventually obliged.

"I've got a lot on my mind right now… and more than the usual stuff. Like what exactly Wayne Enterprises does to make so much money- or if the Green Lantern has to take his special ring off when he showers or goes swimming and stuff," Sam rambled, pushing his text books away from him in defeat. He scratched his head, causing his blonde hair to ruffle slightly. "I guess it's just... relationship stuff."

"Trouble with Brittany?" Blaine asked tentatively. Sam just sighed and half shrugged his shoulders. "You can tell me, Sam. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean that I can't give advice on girls or listen to your problems with an open mind. I mean, I've dealt with plenty of relationship drama too." Sam seemed to ponder this for a moment.

"I guess that makes… Kurt the girl in your relationship?" Sam inquired. Blaine bristled at this. Sam wasn't quite cognizant that gay relationships didn't necessarily follow the same gender role stereotypes as straight ones- but now wasn't the right time to get into that.

(Kurt got visibly flustered during this portion of the story and demanded to know why everyone thought he was the girl. Blaine and Rachel shared an awkward glance before the story continued.)

"How about you tell me what's wrong—instead of trying to assign gender roles to my relationship…" Blaine suggested, setting his pen down to give his full attention. Sam nodded and looked quizzical for a moment, like he was trying to determine the best place to start.

"Do you remember Diva Week?" Sam asked. How could Blaine forget? He'd performed this stunning Queen number while wearing a black leather hat and jacket. How he failed to clinch the Diva title was a mystery. Instead of reliving that memory with Sam, he just nodded his head and urged him to continue. "Santana showed up with those hot cheerleaders in their tiny outfits and they did that sexy dance all together and when it was done she asked Brit why she didn't tell her we'd been dating."

"...Yeah, Sam… we were all there for that. She did it in front of the whole glee club. I remember it clearly."

"Well, the real reason Santana was in Lima—was because she'd come to win Brittany back," Sam had told him, fingering a small tube of Chap Stick in his hands. "She'd dropped out of college and headed up here, I guess, to get her woman. She wanted Brit to dump me—hell... she told me that was her plan." Blaine sat quietly and let Sam talk.

Truthfully, this sounded exactly like something Santana would pull—except for the dropping out of college part. Giving up on something that important, like a scholarship and chance at a great education, seemed decidedly un-Santana in nature. He glanced back as the story continued.

"But Brittany didn't… she didn't leave me. She told Santana that she was with me and we weren't breaking up. She told her that she should go to New York and find her own gay community there." Sam had seemed almost triumphant when telling all this to Blaine, like he knew he'd won, but his tone changed quickly. "I want to hate Santana for trying to break us up…." Sam paused, looking somewhat forlorn, "but I can't blame her for wanting Brit back. I think I would be crushed to lose her too. I can kind of get it, I guess. I felt that… helpless… when Mercedes and I broke up for good—like I was never going to recover. I'm sure you must have felt that when you and Kurt split up for a while." Sam swallowed hard for a moment before his eyes met Blaine's.

"But people do move on. They find new things to make them happy. Brittany moved on and now she's with me… because I make her happy. She was with Santana for a while but now she's done with experimenting with girls. She's not gay—she's always telling me how she loves it when we have sex and stuff. Brittany just wants a _normal_ relationship. Santana is just going to have to get over it," Sam grinned and licked his large lips. "I got the girl." The bell rang signaling the end of their study hall. Sam gathered his books quickly and pocketed his lip balm. He jovially thumped Blaine on the back. "Thanks for listening, buddy." He turned and left, oblivious to the look of sadness on Blaine's face.

The sheer crassness of the conversation, especially Sam's insistence that Brittany wasn't really gay and that Santana was merely a passing experiment, made his chest hurt. He glanced behind him and spotted Sam again through the crowd of people passing by in the hallway. He saw him throw an arm around Brittany's shoulders and lay a sloppy kiss onto her cheek before pulling her down the hallway. Blaine shook his head. Could Brittany really have moved on so quickly? Could she love someone as… oblivious as Sam?

* * *

The loft was eerily silent except for the rumble of traffic outside. Kurt and Rachel had no response when Blaine finished telling them what had happened. They finally had all the pieces of the puzzle and the picture yielded a broken-hearted Santana. They knew the source of her misery was always seemed to stem back to her break up with Brittany last fall—but they had no idea what had transpired since then. How could they have known?

"Oh my god…" Kurt just mumbled absentmindedly. The crying at night, the refusal to mention the blonde, the declined invitations to accompany them to Lima… it all seemed to make sense now. The first emotion Kurt was struck with was overwhelming tenderness towards Santana. The second emotion was pity. He knew how upset he was when he'd broken up with Blaine. They'd been working steadily to patch things up since then. Hell, Kurt had even been on a few dates with that Adam guy while they were apart. But they'd both come to terms with the fact that when it came down it to—they wanted to be together. Kurt assumed that Santana and Brittany were the same kind of couple: destined to end up together.

"I understand that Sam is very aesthetically pleasing and has a lovely mouth," Rachel suddenly spoke, far more softly than she normally did, "But I never imagined him to be so—unkind. _A normal relationship_? What kind of… bigoted, ignorant nonsense is that?" Rachel's face fell. "I can't believe that Brittany would… choose him over Santana. They were always… _supposed to be together._"

Rachel scoffed for a moment, as if she heard the words that came from her mouth and found them to be silly. "I know that sounds ridiculous. We're too young to be deciding with whom we're going to be with forever. I mean, if I went through with my youthfully delirious plans, I'd be married to Finn by now. As lovely as it might be, I never would have the life I have—with opportunity and NYADA and my roommates and a future. But Brittany and Santana… they felt different. They felt like they were _supposed_ to be a couple, even before they ever were. They felt like they'd been working towards it for two years before it happened. They were the timeless, classic romance: lovers, torn apart by a cruel society, face constant adversity-but eventually overcome it to live happily ever after." Rachel felt a sudden affection towards her usually abrasive roommate. "Poor Santana." Kurt nodded along with her.

"Why would she do that? Brit never even wanted to break up in the first place," Kurt demanded, feeling himself getting angry. He liked Brittany, he really did, but at that moment, he felt incensed on Santana's behalf. "She hooks up with Trouty Mouth _because she misses Santana_ but when Santana returns, recognizing the error of her ways and groveling for Brit to take her back… she doesn't?" Blaine gave a sad shrug.

"Apparently."

"But…_why_?" Kurt relentlessly questioned. It was no mystery that Brittany didn't always make sense. She wasn't stupid, but she'd definitely developed that reputation because she tended to see things from a different perspective than most people. Kurt had only ever seen Brittany become defensive about two things: bullying and Santana. No one could argue that they weren't halves of the same whole, Kurt contemplated, which is why this side of Brittany was so alien to him. The thought of Brittany… rejecting Santana… somehow went against everything he'd ever known about her character.

Brittany was always unwavering in her faith in the goodness within Santana and the importance of their relationship. She gave her the benefit of the doubt and trusted her inherently. Yes, Santana had a tendency to be abrasive towards other people… but _never_ Brittany. With her, Santana was kinder and gentler. Brittany's influence over Santana was obvious. No matter how angry Santana might be, as soon as Brittany batted those pretty blue eyes at her, the rage would visibly melt away, leaving only an expression of unabashed affection. That look was indicative of how Santana always treated Brittany: with unrelenting compassion and fierce love. Gradually, Santana's happiness with Brittany bled like ink over into other facets of her life. It was as if she couldn't contain the volume of joy- so it leaked out in the form of a softer version of herself. Brittany's faith and tenderness were character traits that seemed passed to Santana as the course of their relationship progressed. This softer side of Santana was much like the one Rachel and Kurt now routinely experienced.

"Think about it…" Rachel murmured. Both Kurt and Blaine turned to look at her as she spoke. "If Brittany got back together with Santana… she'd never have come here." They all fell silent to consider this notion.

"If she wasn't here, she'd be back in Lima…" Kurt started before suddenly realizing what he'd just said. "She'd… be back in Lima. She'd purposefully be stuck in that small-minded town in order to be with Brittany. She'd never get out. We know Santana—if she thought she had a chance to get back together with Brittany, she would have stayed and waited for the opportunity… and sacrificed her future." He trailed off. They all sat in silence for a few moments, letting the full weight of Brittany's apparent motivations settle over them.

"It's touching, when you think about it," Blaine spoke up suddenly, reaching over to take Kurt's hand in his. "She had to help Santana achieve her dreams, even if it meant pushing her away. Brittany loved her so much that she sent her to New York, to move in with you two, so she could start becoming the person she's supposed to be." The silence fell over them again. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts, pitying Santana's loneliness and begrudgingly admiring Brittany's painful decision. She had to make the hard choice, to do what she had to, in order to support Santana's dreams.

This realization of the truth behind what had happened didn't change any of their minds. Each of them knew, deep down, that this made it even more apparent that Brittany and Santana were perfect for one another. They were supposed to end up together. All this made the thought that they were apart more tragic.

* * *

When Santana met them at the karaoke bar in Midtown that night, she was forced into three different long, awkward hugs. Kurt even teared up a little when he pulled away from her. No one mentioned Blaine's story about Sam, or that they'd stumbled upon Brittany's true intentions behind the rejection, or any of the other reasons behind the need to console Santana. They just knew that they couldn't tell her what was really going on in Lima. If they did, Santana would be back there as fast as she could and Brittany's sacrifice would be in vain. Kurt and Rachel needed to keep Santana safe and sane until the time came when she and Brittany could be reunited. They were absolutely sure, one hundred percent convinced actually, that love would find a way to bring those two back together.

Santana, of course, didn't know about any of this. All she knew was that after an evening of work, she was ready to drink. Being hugged by her roommates for awkwardly long extended periods of time didn't fall into the category of "things Santana Lopez wants to do right now."

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you people?" Santana shook her head, brushing past all of them so she could head to the bar for a drink. She didn't think she wanted to know what they'd been talking about in her absence. While she craved news from back home, her pride refused to let her ask any questions.

Later that night, Kurt and Rachel finally saw a flash of the pain that Santana worked to hide. They helplessly watched, biting their tongues, as she excused herself to get some fresh air when it came time for some hefty woman's turn to sing. Santana disappeared out into the dark air as the first chords of the woman's song choice came on, filling the bar with the sounds of Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

__**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who commented on previous chapters. I appreciate the encouragement. Read/Review!

* * *

The past six months with Rachel and Kurt allowed Santana something she desperately needed: space. She was an unfettered spirit, free to walk through the streets of New York. Stepping outside, she could escape her past and forge a new future. Isn't that the point of such a grand, monstrous city? It provided the chance to transform oneself? Though New York was loud, crowded, and filled to the brim with life, Santana felt able to breathe easier here, for the first time in what felt like forever.

Santana's past residences didn't allow for a lot of growth. Lima, itself, was a stagnant cesspool of memories. When she had returned to Lima just after the break up, she found the city to be claustrophobic. She knew all the shops, constantly recognized people on the street, and felt stifled by the burden of familiarity. If anything, Santana desired complete anonymity. It was simply too painful to encounter old acquaintances while she was in town. They all asked her if she and Brittany were still together or if she knew that Brittany was now with Sam. Santana was sick of having to answer that question or acknowledge the sad truth that Brittany had moved on.

Lima once had fulfilled that elusive ideal of "home" for her. It was somewhere where she always felt welcome and wanted. Santana realized too late that the main reason why this old town had held that position, residing in her heart as the place she felt the most like herself, was because Lima always meant Brittany. Brittany was the closest thing to the concept of "home" that she'd ever experienced before moving in with Rachel and Kurt. But now Brittany had moved on, shaking the foundations that Santana had relied on for so long. Thus, the constantly loud, bustling loft, with her roommates, was starting to contort in her mind—transforming from a just place to sleep at night to a place where she felt needed and accepted. The refurbished warehouse living quarters had begun to fill that much needed, vacant space within her. She felt so alienated from Brittany that she found herself clinging to the small family that she and the other two had forged together. The more time she spent with them, the more she felt able to be herself. Santana had to find new ways to feel like herself, rebuilding who exactly she was, since she'd defined herself so long through who she was with Brittany. Amazingly enough, Kurt, Rachel and the city itself, had all done those things for her.

The differences between Lima and New York were stark and immediately apparent. New York was a totally different world in and of itself. It was a vast jungle of buildings, transit systems, and people. Lima's population was roughly forty thousand people, where as New York's was closer to 8.2 million. In the Big Apple, the odds of running into Brittany, let alone someone who knew Brittany even existed, were unfathomable. Only two people (Kurt and Rachel of course), out of those millions and millions, knew who she was, deep down inside. Aside from that, Santana was just another face in the crowd. When she walked down 5th Avenue, she wasn't "that lesbian cheerleader who got outed on TV" or even "that bitch whose ex is now dating that guy with the huge lips." She could just be "super hot chick in leather boots, strutting like she owns this street." She appreciated this escape.

Santana's new life provided much needed emotional space by allowing her to easily blend into the crowd- but it also provided actual, physical distance between her and her past. She should have known from her first step on campus that things would never have worked out in Kentucky. It was in too close of a proximity to Lima and Brittany. At the time when she left for college, she'd never considered that this could ever be a bad thing. How could she think that being closer to the love of her life would be wrong?

But life threw her a curveball. As fate would have it, the lack of physical space was a detriment to her college experience. While Santana was in Louisville, she could barely concentrate on her classes. Instead of focusing on her piles of work or new cheerleading routines, she was busy thinking about what time Brittany's Cheerios practice ended or how late the Lima Bean was open. Santana knew she was only four hours away. She'd mapped out the miles that separated them (roughly 236 miles—but who was counting?). She had to force herself to sit in class and will her aching body not to get up and drive home. While cheerleading practice and studying kept her busy, there was always time to fight her desires to leave Kentucky.

One time in particular, just after she and Brittany had broken up, Santana sat at her desk all night, clutching her keys in her hand. She ignored her sleeping roommate (who she hated) and just felt the cold metal teeth dig into her palm, harder and harder. She waged an internal war for hours, her mind churning over her options. Half of her wanted to gather her belongings and go home to Lima (and Brittany) for good. She hated her classes and was quickly losing favor with everyone on the cheerleading squad. Once she was home, she'd figured, she could work on fixing their relationship, rebuild what she'd stupidly broken. The other half of her knew she had to stay at school and earn the scholarship that she'd been awarded. She was perpetually stuck between what she _wanted_ to do and what she _needed_ to do. Santana wanted to make Brittany proud, more than anything, even after they'd broken up. But she _needed_ to see Brittany… to smell her hair again…. To apologize and admit that it was stupid to end things.

Inside, Santana blamed herself (perhaps hated herself might have been more accurate). Why did she possibly think that it would benefit her future with Brittany to give them space to see other people? How on Earth would that yield positive results? All Brittany wanted was more communication and time spent together—and instead Santana broke things off. Jesus, she'd _known_ it was a mistake about twenty minutes after it happened, but Santana was positive that she was doing the right thing. All she'd wanted was to erase that look of loneliness on Brittany's face. However, erasing it by ending things was a horrible idea.

The months after the break-up proved to be some of the most difficult weeks of her life. Dealing with the aftermath of ending things with Brittany was almost as hard as the act itself. Santana, while understanding her error and regretting it, refused to jump back into a long distance relationship. Refusing Brittany backstage during the McKinley production of _Grease_ truly tested her resolve. She'd done it because she knew it was the right thing at that time (so she'd thought). She'd needed to get to a place in her life where she could be with Brittany, physically and emotionally. Timing was everything, she told herself again and again.

When she'd finally made the decision to drop out, Santana was deliriously happy with the notion that she could return to Lima and be with her ex. When everything else seemed to be falling apart around her, she knew that she had Brittany. The pain she'd dealt with when they were apart was only calmed by the belief that they'd be back together as soon as Santana could manage it. Once they were a couple again, they could make plans for the future. Brittany would graduate and they could move away from Lima—together. This thought kept her going until that possibility was dashed with a phone call.

Tina didn't have to say much, just simply blurt out the stupid portmanteau that Brittany and Sam were called. With just a couple syllables, Santana felt everything she'd been hoping for, planning for, living for melt away. Brittany had moved on. Brittany was with someone else—become someone else's girlfriend. Brittany kissed someone else's mouth and fell asleep in someone else's arms. She sent cute texts to Sam now. She held his hand. She fucked him. Santana threw up outside the library as the full weight of Tina's words washed over her.

To Santana's credit, she put up with Kentucky for the longest possible time that she could before she'd allowed herself to drop out. Even then, she felt guilty only because she worried that Brittany might be disappointed. However, that fear of how Brittany felt was quickly transformed to something else upon discovering that she and Sam were together. The night after she found out about "Bram" might have been one of the worst days in her life. It was just as hard as the hours she spent alone in her bed post-break up. To her credit, Santana had kept Snix at bay. She hadn't said a word, no calls to empathetic friends, and no outward signs of anger or disbelief. Instead, she simply climbed into her bed and just lay there. She cried hard, hard enough to really scare her with its violent forcefulness. She sobbed for hours, even when she was so tired that she thought her heart and lungs could never work properly again.

Santana was upset, to say the least, but still labored under the belief that things weren't over. Perhaps, she worried, she would always think that—and waste her life pining away after Brittany. She would always fight herself to deny that thought, even though it was all in her head. She was convinced that if she tried hard enough, things would work out. But things didn't end up the way that Santana pictured. With the rejection she'd sustained from Brittany backstage after her "Diva Week" appearance and then her self-imposed exile from Lima—things didn't look so bright anymore. Everything served as a reminder of what she'd lost. This is why the space between her and the past was so critical. It also helped that she couldn't easily get back to Lima to make a fool out of herself again- considering it was almost 600 miles away. Absence makes the heart grow fonder… right?


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

* * *

Escaping to New York served different purposes for Santana. She was there to find her dreams and do something with herself. She wanted to enjoy a life where the narrow-minded ignorant fools that lived in Northwestern Ohio didn't constrict her, closet her. She sought to build a future that she could never have achieved if she'd stayed in Kentucky or Lima.

In order to give herself over fully to the life she was constructing in New York, Santana didn't feel she could go back to Lima—not for a while at least. Maybe if Sam and Brittany broke up, she'd return. Perhaps if her bitchy abuela passed away, she'd have to show up for the funeral. Inside, she knew that it would take something truly substantive to get her back there. Her parents had been made aware of this. She'd told them as much as she hugged them goodbye before she clutched her bag and headed off to the train station. They knew what had transpired between her and Brittany. The day they broke up, she'd had to tell them something when she arrived home in the middle of the afternoon, eyes puffy from crying. She'd managed to sob out what had happened and instead of saying anything. Her mother just pulled her tightly to her chest. Santana hadn't cried against her mother's bosom since she was a child. Even then, there were stories that infant Santana never actually shed tears, but instead glared, glossy-eyed and stoic.

Most importantly, her mom and dad hadn't tried to stop her when she announced she was moving to New York. They let her go without a fight, knowing that she knew what she was doing. Maybe her parents wanted to argue with her about her plans to never return home, but they didn't do that either. Then again, perhaps they didn't blame her for wanting to leave the city that was a constant reminder of her epic, destroyed love story. Either way, her father simply kissed her forehead and slipped a sizeable wad of cash into her coat pocket. Her mother teared up and made her promise to call them when she could. They were the only people in Lima that she actually said goodbye to. She didn't even talk to Brittany before she left. She just couldn't.

Stepping off the train in New York had only reaffirmed her plans. As she strode out into the busy city, she felt a pulse run through her. It was a seemingly living organism, swirling around her, loud and fast. She wasn't nervous anymore, she realized at that moment. She was surer of herself than she ever expected she could be. She knew that she needed to be there to discover and follow her dreams. She felt like something big was waiting for her in this place, lurking somewhere close by for her to uncover it, like buried treasure.

* * *

Santana had the wild fantasy that she'd make something of herself and then emerge the conquering successful hero. It was a dream that she pictured in her mind every night before bed. She'd lie there, in her portion of the loft, and her last thoughts before slipping off to sleep would be of the same elaborate sequence. These last moments of her day were the only time she'd really allow herself to think of how much she missed Brittany. Then she'd begin to think of her triumphant return to Lima.

She could see it now. After becoming a famous singer or actress or whatever, she'd shun all of the women who would throw themselves at her. Santana would scorn them, ignoring their wanton attempts to seduce her. Instead, she'd ride back into Lima like a white knight. She'd arrive in style, perhaps an expensive black town car, sleek and a million times better than anything ever seen in that shitty place before. She would show up at McKinley High (oddly enough, this is where the main portion of the dream sequence always took place), and she'd interrupt some sort of assembly (oddly enough, there was always a large gathering of students featured in her sequences too). Everyone would whisper that she was there, the famous and universally loved Santana Lopez. She'd walk in like she owned the place and seek out one person: Brittany. It would be a while since they'd seen one other, but Brittany would look the same as she always did. Her golden blonde hair, her sapphire-hued eyes, and her dazzling smile—it was all preserved in Santana's memory. Brittany would stand when she appeared in front of her. Sam, sitting beside her, would try to frantically clutch her hand, tugging at her to ignore the sudden appearance of her super hot and insanely fame-stricken ex-girlfriend. It was then that Santana would lift Brittany from Sam's trouty grasp, watching triumphantly as Brittany would turn to him and dump him on the spot. When her head would swivel back around to meet Santana's gaze, they'd both grin and Santana would reach out, pulling Brittany to her tightly as they joined hands. They lips would find one other, engaging in a heated kiss while hungrily battling for more skin contact. The rest of the fantasy devolved into some pretty smutty locker room action, featuring Brittany's tongue and her own fingers slipping deftly inside her now-girlfriend-again's wet panties.

This was the part of her dream where Santana would often find herself aching. She'd find her own wet center, the vision of her fingers inside of Brittany transforming into the memory of Brittany's sure touch. It made her feel less alone, but somehow more pathetic to picture Brittany while she touched herself. It almost always made her come harder.

After satisfying her real-life needs, Santana's dream would resume. When they'd finished with hours of making love, Santana would escort Brittany back to her black town car and then to New York with her. She would show how the world was open wide before them, allowing them to build their own dreams together. They could live there, sharing a life and growing old in each other's company. Then they'd disappear off into the sunset together. After the sunset bit, things got fuzzy. Usually by that point, Santana would be fast asleep, sated and dreaming of Brittany.

Sometimes, the fantasy calmed her and gave her hope. Sometimes, it only made her sad. Before she could attempt that sort of theatrical venture, Santana had to find that _thing_ that would allow her to shine. She had to work hard and build something, a reputation… a life… so that she had something to offer. She needed to be worthy of Brittany before she could return to Lima—that's what this all came down to. Thus far, she'd been unable to figure out what that thing, that thing that would make her into the chivalrous knight, was exactly. Until she'd achieved something of substance, Santana had to keep herself at a distance from Brittany.

The last time they'd interacted face-to-face, Santana had to endure Brittany's refusal to break up with Sam. Since this painful event, they hadn't spoken at all. Santana received the occasional text from Brittany for the first two or three weeks after this incident happened. They were short, usually asking how New York was or describing some detail of Brittany's day. They were all somewhat impersonal. Santana was quick to notice that she never received any "I miss you" or "I love you" texts. There were no messages that bordered on anything deeper small talk one might share with someone they barely knew. The texts just stayed stored in Santana's inbox, read but not responded to. She couldn't find anything worthy to say to Brittany. She couldn't type back anything that didn't sound like pathetic, feeble attempts to articulate how much she missed absolutely everything about the blonde. She'd realized this after spending nearly an hour trying to think of something with which to respond to a text stating: "Soooooo… Lord Tubbington might get indicted for tax fraud." Santana decided that maybe it was better to not say anything at all. Eventually the texts stopped coming.

* * *

Even though they weren't speaking and Santana was actively avoiding anything to do with Lima, she was still clever enough to obtain information when she needed to. She knew she could count on several things to keep her apprised of the situation between Sam and Brittany. She could keep an eye on things, even without speaking directly to them or about them.

Wisely, Santana still had a Facebook account- one that allowed her to peer into the world of the girl she was no longer allowed to call her own. She checked on things in Lima constantly without ever updating about her own life. She hated looking at her own profile; it hurt too much to see the word "single" displayed sadly as her relationship status.

She monitored every uploaded picture that Brittany added to her photo albums, even the ones involving Sam. It hurt to look at them, to see visible proof that Brittany had moved on and was happy. In the pictures of her and Trouty Mouth, Santana's gaze focused exclusively on Brittany. She found herself searching for details in the girl's face that belayed any sadness that could be related to them not being together—but there weren't any.

Santana always compulsively analyzed Brittany's expressions, trying to gauge her happiness based on the different smiles being employed. It was a harsh blow when she came across a photo of Brittany and Sam at Breadstix about two months after she'd moved to New York. Santana noticed a very specific cheeky grin directed at Sam. It was a look she'd seen thousands of times, usually post-coital as they were naked, intertwined. It was a look that Santana had thought was exclusively reserved for her. She refused to check Facebook for a solid two weeks after noticing; the reality of her predicament was too depressing.

Eventually, she found herself logging in to her account again to make up for lost time. She read every status update, every wall posting, every picture upload that she'd missed, hungry for inclusion in a fraction of Brittany's existence. She tried to force her brain to remember every detail of Brittany's face so that when she closed her eyes at night, that lovely visage was all she saw. Santana convinced herself that she had somehow remained a best friend vicariously through this silent social media profile. She was apprised of what was going on in Brittany's life, even if Brittany didn't exactly know about it. Santana considered herself to be something out of a Dickens' novel: an ever-sentient silent benefactor who carefully, secretly watched over someone, hesitating in the shadows for the perfect time to emerge. She would wait as long as it took.

There was one thing that Santana found glaringly apparent in her months of monitoring Brittany's profile. Up to a certain point, there was heavy discourse between them through this virtual media. Santana would post pictures of kittens or unicorns on Brittany's page, accompanied by short loving messages. In turn, Brittany would update her on things in Lima, blowing her kisses and counting down days until they would see each other. The exchanges all but stopped once they broke up. She had to scroll down, months and months worth of updates, to find anything remotely related to her. The last post between them was a message from Brittany, emphasizing how excited she was that Santana was coming in tow for the next few days. She knew now that they'd broken up during that visit to Lima.

Since then, Brittany never posted anything on Santana's profile. Santana had gradually accepted this. She also came to terms with the fact that Brittany didn't discuss Santana via-Facebook with any of the other glee kids either. Their romantic sweet postings were replaced with similar exchanges between her and Sam. It was almost as if she had been erased from Brittany's life- like Santana had been removed or never existed in the first place. That might have hurt the most.

* * *

Facebook wasn't her only means of observing Brittany's life from afar. If anything, Santana could easily rely on Kurt and Rachel's love of gossip to provide her with information. They both had ties to the city still and semi-frequently returned home for visits. Though her roommates begged her to come in town with them, she'd fabricated reasons why she couldn't. She picked up extra shifts at work and used her job as an excuse to not accompany them. They probably knew that she was purposefully finding justification to avoid their old stomping ground, but they wisely accepted her explanations and didn't press the matter.

Instead of joining them, she'd escort Kurt and Rachel to the airport or train station. She might even occasionally allow herself to be hugged before they departed. Once they were gone, Santana would always spend the entire time they were gone in a drunken daze. She would use her fake ID to buy a bottle of hard alcohol and then close the blinds so she could sit in the dark. She'd comb through Brittany's Facebook profile, old love letters she kept stowed in a wooden box beneath her bed, and photos of the two of them she had saved on her laptop. She'd drink and cry and lament for as long as she could. Then she'd shower, clean the loft, and pick her roommates up with a forced smile on her face. It happened the same way each time.

When Kurt and Rachel returned home, she carefully sidestepped the questions she desperately wanted to ask. They were genuinely kind people, she had come to understand, and knew that even though she wanted to know if they'd seen Brittany, she couldn't ask. They never brought her up, fearing Santana's wrath if they breathed her name within the loft. However, despite never actually talking about her, the lack of information meant that things must be ok, Santana rationalized. If something were wrong- if Brittany were pregnant or hurt or not graduating again- she knew that Kurt and Rachel would tell her. No news meant that things were as they always were, she guessed.

Kurt and Rachel had a pretty good idea of what could be keeping Santana from visiting Lima. They were never fooled by her excuses to stay home. They could see the obviously wistful look on her face, as she lay sprawled on Kurt's bed, watching him pack, or the excited edge to her tone as she followed Rachel around, detailing a list of all the insults that needed to be doled out once she saw any glee friends. They both knew what she did the entire time that they were gone. They'd both noticed the empty liquor bottles and tissue boxes in the trash upon returning to the loft. There was little they could do about the situation other than be as sensitive to Santana's pain as they could.

* * *

Kurt and Rachel had discussed Santana's refusal to go with them on occasion. Most of the time, they both just settled on believing the intricate stories she'd weave to decline their invitations. What they could never settle on was how much or how little to let on about what was going on in Lima.

On a returning trip to New York, when they'd gone to visit in late spring for Finn's birthday, they debated how much about the weekend to tell Santana. They'd witnessed a particularly horrendous grope session between a drunken Sam and an extremely drunk Brittany. It was a "rounding second base, almost to third" type of situation that had occurred in Rachel's basement during a party she threw.

"I have many vintage, highly collectible items in that loft," Kurt pointed out seriously as the train headed towards New York. "I don't want them smashed to pieces when Snix comes out to visit. God—do you remember what Santana did after she found that picture of them at the beach for spring break? She smashed your perfectly maintained, glass-encased Playbill for _Gypsy_ starring the incomparable Patti Lupone and called it an accident." Rachel shuddered at the memory.

"She was extremely apologetic, perhaps for the first time in her life, after that incident. She bought a very nice replacement frame if you'll remember, Kurt, and cleaned up the glass," Rachel pointed out quickly. But with a heavy sigh, she had to agree with him. "You're right though. She does tend to get… _out of hand_… when she's particularly enraged. And you do have those blown glass art pieces." Kurt nodded briskly at this.

"Exactly. But what are we supposed to do? You know Tina was playing paparazzi during that entire incident. Those pictures are bound to end up on Facebook."

"Yes, they'll probably appear in a virtual location where Santana will undoubtedly encounter them. Still, we can't bring it up to her—or even prepare her for what she could see. She has a hard enough time dealing with the fact that they're together. How do you think she's going to take to seeing photographic evidence of impending drunken fornication?"

Kurt sullenly glared out of the window.

"We'll both be dead by then, I'm sure. She will turn into the Incredible Snix-Hulk and murder everyone in her path—namely us. We will die, unknown and not famous, in our loft in Bushwick, victims of Santana Lopez's rage. The closest thing we'll ever get to a theatrical review in the paper will be our obituaries—short, meaningless passages featuring the sorted, messy details of how she strangled us both with her strong, lesbian hands. How tragic."

They fell silent for long minutes after that, both trying to decide the best course of action. Kurt suggested talking to Tina so that they could convince her to destroy the pictures so that Santana wouldn't see them. To this, Rachel pointed out that word of Santana stalking Brittany via-Facebook would spread like wildfire (Tina Cohen-Chang could never keep her gossipy mouth shut). Then they'd both end up dead regardless of their efforts to spare her feelings.

Eventually, they settled on a very abridged version of what happened. The evening they returned, they both waited worriedly for Santana to ask about the weekend. When it inevitably happened, they put on their best acting skills to seem nonchalant and unassuming.

"So Lumps' birthday went well? Did you hire him to be his own birthday party clown? Did he eat the entire cake you got him- the cheap stripper stashed inside of it and all?" Santana joked, when they were watching television that night.

"No, Santana. Finn was not the clown at this own party and no, did not eat the entire cake—though he did eat the majority of it. Not that it's an important detail. Also, I'll have you know that no strippers were present or eaten at the party we threw—though Artie did try to hire one last minute," Rachel stiffly answered.

Though Santana had started her line of questioning with Finn, they all knew what information she was really trying to ascertain. She wanted to know if they'd seen Brittany, if the blonde had asked about their missing roommate, if there had been any indication that Brittany was wondering about Santana because there was a chance that she missed her. She wanted to know, without specifics, and without outwardly asking.

"The party was fun though," Kurt interjected, his eyes glancing over to Rachel's. They'd already planned what they'd say during this portion of the conversation. "Some people… got really drunk and _acted _like strippers, so maybe that counts. There was also some seriously gross hooking up going down."

"You don't say. Berry, your parties sound like they're getting a bit more entertaining. I mean, as entertaining as they can get despite the fact that they lack a certain element of cannibalism on Finn's part," Santana joked in a tense voice. "Next thing you know, you'll be hosting a swingers' party and asking everyone to put their keys in a bowl when they enter the front door."

"I don't think that drunkenly… and randomly… exchanging intimate partners sounds like my forte, Santana," Rachel acknowledged carefully. "But the sexual exploration going on in my basement did entice some people at the party. For some unexplained reason, Tina felt it necessary to take a plethora of full color pictures of the entire party- especially quite a few up-close and lewd shots of the hook ups as they happened. So if you want to avoid some low quality, homemade heterosexual soft-core porn, I'd suggest not glancing over her inevitably soon-to-be-uploaded album." She tried to be as blunt as possible without any specifics, which proved difficult.

"I would really like to second that motion. I was present for the aforementioned straight couples dry humping session—and it wasn't pretty. I'd like to reiterate that you should ignore Tina's album at all costs. I think Rachel's party made me more gay than I was prior." Kurt jokingly added, stepping in to help Rachel. "There are some unsettling photos that are bound to emerge. I think Finn might be shirtless in a few of them." He shrugged apologetically at Rachel when she furiously glared at this comment. Santana seemed to pick up on the fact that Tina might post pictures of something she'd find extremely unsavory. She also couldn't run the risk that she might actually see Finn shirtless—again.

"Finn topless? No thanks. I think I'll skip that hot fucking mess. No offense, Berry. I know you're still into that doughy piece of man boob. " She turned back to the TV, pretending to watch it.

Secretly, she was grateful that Kurt and Rachel were working so hard to help her avoid unnecessary emotional strife. If she'd found the pictures without meaning to and stumbled upon shots of Brittany and Sam fooling around (or doing something equally gross—really anything they did together made her want to puke), Santana knew that she would have reacted poorly. Now she knew that pictures of Brittany and Sam doing _something_ existed and were probably on Facebook. However, now she had a nagging portion of her brain that wanted to know exactly what was in the photos Tina would post.

A day later, Tina did upload all the pictures from the party. Santana debated with herself for three hours before clicking on the link to them. She scanned through the thumbnails, eventually spotting Brittany. She was torn between utter disgust and complete adoration for her ex-girlfriend.

There Brittany was in all her glory: her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, her eyes dazed and her face drunken, wearing nothing but jeans and a bra. In the photos, she was straddling Sam's lap as they kissed on a couch in Rachel's basement. Santana quickly, miserably noted the placement of his hands, cupping Brittany's exquisite breasts through the bra. She also was mortified at the obvious tent in his pants, visible due to the angle of Brittany's creamy, strong thighs. The caption on the picture read: _Sam and Brit about to get nasty_. Why Tina would think it was appropriate to post this was totally beyond Santana. She grimaced as she noticed that there were at least four more pictures along the same lines, featuring Brittany and Sam in increasingly heated positions. After the couple of shots of them on the couch, they weren't in any more pictures from the rest of the evening.

Santana slammed her laptop shut, fighting back tears. They weren't in more pictures because they probably left to go fuck, she realized. She was so stupid to seek out the photo album after Rachel and Kurt had quite obviously warned her against it. They knew what had happened and had attempted to spare her this feeling, the one in her gut at that exact moment. Oddly enough, she didn't turn into Snix. She crawled into her bed, after resisting the urge to smash everything in the loft, and proceeded to claim she was sick for the next two days.

* * *

A week after the album was posted, Santana came across something curious on Brittany's Facebook profile. Puck had made a comment days earlier, complaining that Brittany had asked Tina to take down "those hot awesome party pics." Santana's heart sped up rapidly as she found Tina's profile and then the album in question. Sure enough, the series of shots of Brittany on top of Sam had been removed. She could hardly believe it. When she glanced back at Brittany's page again, she noticed the response she'd given to Puck's lewd comment.

_Didn't want certain people seeing 'em— might not like it!_

Santana's breath caught in her throat.

It was utterly impossible that Brittany was referring to _her_, right? It had to mean someone else. Santana reasoned that Brittany was friends with her mom, her little sister, her cousins, her aunts, one uncle, and even Lord Tubbington on Facebook. Her comment about "certain people" probably just meant her family, because they might not enjoy seeing her half naked on some guy with an erection. That had to be what she was talking about. There was no chance, no possible way, that she would post that comment because she thought that Santana might see it. Right?

As much as she told herself not to, Santana believed that the comment from Brittany was somehow directed at her. It made her work harder, trying desperately to figure her life out. If she wanted that nightly fantasy of reclaiming Brittany with a righteous kiss to become a reality, she would have to amass something to show for herself.

Santana started to work those extra shifts whenever Kurt or Rachel went to Lima. She stopped getting hammered and crying—so she could focus her energy on other pursuits. She still kept the old love letters and digital pictures, but she tried to look towards the future as opposed to the past. She picked Kurt and Rachel up when the returned with a genuine smile and welcomed them home with open arms. She trusted what they told her about the goings on in Lima.

Despite knowing how pathetic she was, Santana secretly waited for the time that they'd return to New York with the information that Sam Evans was single again, giving her the news she'd really been waiting for.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

__**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** First, a big, all-encompassing, rib-bruising hug to all those who have favorited/followed/reviewed this fic. It makes me want to write volumes of lovely Brittana goodness whenever I discover that more people have started reading my work. Second, please not that this fic is canon up until episode 4x13 "Diva"- therefore there never was a Quinntana hookup or anything. Quinn comes into play for the first time in this chapter, and I didn't want to confuse anyone.

Keep calm and keep reading (and reviewing)!

* * *

As the months passed, several things happened with Santana. Some were only visible inside of her soul, deep within her. They couldn't be seen by just the appearance, the aura she exuded, externally. Some could be perceived by those who knew her, saw her daily, and could watch her evolve slowly.

Some things remained the same. She still checked Brittany's Facebook profile, though the frequency and intensity subsided. She noticed things uploaded, status updates, and the like. However, the more time passed since she exile herself from Lima, the more those social networking updates felt like they belonged to someone else's past. There was no doubt that she was still in love with Brittany, a possibly would always be, but somehow—it started to feel more desperate, more pathetic that she was stalking her ex's profile. It didn't help that Sam's face was still plastered all over the photos that were displayed on the page; if anything, this helped to reaffirm her belief that she shouldn't check it as often as she had before.

Santana still strained her ears to listen for information whenever Kurt or Rachel returned from a weekend in Lima or got off the phone with someone who still lived there. She hadn't really kept up with a lot of her friends from high school after leaving the city for good. They only person she actively talked to was Quinn. What had started as a drunken dial one night quickly turned into an almost-daily routine phone call. They'd talk about their lives: Quinn's classes, Santana's job, roommates from hell (Quinn had been assigned an ever-silent, constantly judgmental girl from Maine who liked anime and hated her), and how happy they were to be out of Lima. Their friendship worked because Quinn was willing to listen whenever Santana needed to rant about how Rachel kept waking her up at dawn with her musical scales or Kurt always used all the hot water every day—and occasionally her hair product too.

Quinn was a gentle, manageable link to her past, Santana concluded. Both members of the aptly named _Unholy Trinity_, she was easy to talk to, gave excellent advice and most importantly, she was bitchy enough to relate to Santana's complaints. Santana developed a stranger level of… platonic intimacy with Quinn where she found herself relaying all the day-to-day events of her life with the same ease as if she were speaking to Brittany—well Brittany before things got awkward. It was a little strange that despite the fact that they saw each other daily in high school and endured the theatrics of their teenage years together—they only developed a close friendship when they were in different states, post-graduation. They'd been through so much at McKinley (Quinn's pregnancy, Santana's coming out, Sue's cheerleading death camps, etc) but they had only _really_ become friends now. Perhaps it was because they weren't vying for the head cheerleading spot, Quinn liked to muse. Santana actually agreed with that. Without the ever-present social pressures and cheerleading hierarchy, they were free to just be themselves, and be friends without secretly hoping for the other's demise.

They talked at night mostly. Quinn's roommate Stacey would be off at the library, allowing her to exchange dialogue freely without someone eavesdropping. Santana would be tucked in bed, listening to Kurt and Rachel talk in the living room as she was bathed in the dark of her curtained-off room. They took turns calling the other and if one of them couldn't talk, they'd always keep in touch. It was a routine that was comforting to the both of them. They'd start out talking about their days, usually, before their conversations would devolve. They'd discuss everything that came to mind: how they'd slept with so many of the same people, whether or not that new Sci-Fi movie about dragons could really happen, what sound giraffes make (do they even make sounds at all), what they wanted to do with their lives, why they'd made the mistakes that they had.

Sometimes Santana would put Quinn on speakerphone and Rachel and Kurt would join in. Those nights were fun. Rachel always begged for quartets of numbers they'd sang in high school. Kurt asked about the guys in New Haven. Santana brought up embarrassing moments and they'd all join in to discuss Mr. Shue's gay love affair with vests. Eventually Quinn would start drinking on her end of the phone and they'd open a bottle of wine in New York—and they get drunk together. Even though she was sharing wine and staring up until 4 AM with people she used to loathe and Santana's closest phone friend was in another state—she never felt more contentment, more surrounded than during those moments. Those nights made being single and somewhat lonely feel less so. They made her remember that she had friends other than Brittany, a life outside of their now decrepit relationship, and autonomy to become whomever she wanted.

Usually Rachel and Kurt were busy with NYADA bullshit, or on dates, or doing whatever—so it was just Santana and Quinn talking. She liked this just as much as sharing the conversations with her roommates. Their conversations could be light and silly—but sometimes they were deep and existential. Quinn admitted that she was scared that she was unsure of what she wanted to do with her life. She was at an expensive university and didn't know what her major should be. They both admitted things that they were barely capable of admitting to themselves—much less others.

Santana, briefly and sparingly (and only when totally drunk), would sometimes bring up Brittany. She never said her ex's name during those small tangents. It was usually something like: "_I really fucked up, Quinn. She's with him now and I have to force myself to breathe sometimes. It hurts more than I ever knew it could."_ Or sometimes it was: _"How the fuck could she be with that asshole? You know one time he told me that I must be a dyke because I didn't want to blow him junior year? Everyone thinks he's some… fucking nice guy… when really he's this… totally ignorant fucking jerk."_ More often than not it was: "I'm going become something and then we're going to pick up where I broke things off… and it'll all be worth it." Quinn usually just agreed with whatever Santana said during those few and far between admissions about what was going on with her and Brittany. She wasn't surprised that Santana was upset about them being apart still—they'd practically been together every minute of every day before Santana left for college. She was surprised to find out about Sam's utterly disgusting homophobic behavior. It made her sad, when Santana got drunk and cried to her over the phone. It made her want to track down Brittany and demand to know what the fuck was going on. But she knew that if she did that, Santana would close up again—rebuilding her proverbial walls. So she just listened and provided a shoulder to cry on.

Quinn never asked her to leave out the nonsensical or seemingly mundane details, perhaps realizing that Santana needed _someone_. She figured that it was probably hard to talk over Kurt and Rachel. Santana needed an unbiased ear that would listen to all the parts of her life that would otherwise just become part of a blurry memory of the day. Brittany always fulfilled that role in the past, Quinn figured: someone who enjoyed hearing about how Santana got into a verbal altercation with someone over a handgrip on the F train, or that she had a turkey sandwich for lunch but the deli forgot the mustard. All those tiny details of her life were important, even if they seemed insignificant. They reaffirmed Santana's active role in the world.

* * *

The events of her day were affirmations that she was alive. It had been hard to breathe sometimes when she first arrived in the city. Maybe it was the feeling of terror or the notion that she could be swallowed whole by everything that surrounded her. Santana nearly choked, lungs malfunctioning, when she realized she was alone (for the most part) in one of the largest cities in the world and she was an insignificant speck in it. She felt like sometimes she _had_ to elbow her way into a seat on the subway, or get into a screaming fight with the delicatessen—because it showed the world that she was a part of it. She had to make space for herself in a seemingly sardine can environment. She had to carve out a place so that she could have a chance at rising above, becoming something more.

Santana had never been one for complacency. She always wanted more—a bigger slice of the pie, a brighter spotlight, a fiercer love story. The difference between her and everyone else in the overcrowded city, she reasoned to herself (and sometimes Quinn), was that she was willing to claw for it. She was willing to work harder to become the best, no matter what it took. Perhaps this was why Brittany had urged her to come to New York. She knew that Santana needed a challenge, one that she wasn't getting in Louisville or Lima. What started as a way to get Brittany back—became a quest. Santana needed to become something, not just for Brittany, but also for herself. She had to want more, demand more, earn more— so that grow into an even more amazing person. Her life had to match the incredible woman inside; the woman that she knew she could be. She already knew Brittany was worth the effort… she just had to start believing that she was worth it too.

Santana's hostessing job didn't exactly provide a lot of stimulation for her budding dream. However, she always scanned the local papers, hoping that something would leap out at her. She was unsure of her direction in life, but she searched for her future with ferocity unmatched by anything Rachel or Kurt had ever seen. Both of them had always aspired to do great things and were supportive of whatever Santana chose to pursue. Hostessing, while not glamorous, paid the bills while she tread water.

Perhaps part of the reason why she fought so hard to make something of her life was due to anger. She was generally an angry person, true. However, there were certain plaguing memories that Santana could never seem to deal with properly. She was always angry with herself that she'd broken up with Brittany at all, even though it gave them room to grow. She was mad at Sam for being an ignorant, guppy-lipped paperweight, keeping Brittany in Lima. She was mad at life because she felt to woefully unprepared for heartache. No one ever explained to her how fucking hard it would be, or how to move on afterwards.

Part of her rage, a part she never wanted to deal with- let alone acknowledge, was inadvertently directed at Brittany. She didn't want to admit that she felt enraged about what had happened when she'd been rejected. She was deeply, critically hurt that Brittany had chosen Sam. It made her doubt what they used to have, the foundation they'd built, and even everything they'd shared. It felt eerily similar to when she'd taken a disheartening second place to Artie in the past. She felt the anger bubble up most often when checking Brittany's profile online, when she saw that stupid smile on Sam's trouty face as he had his arms wrapped around the love of _her_ life. She bordered on hating them both in those fleeting moments. What did it all mean? Were things really over? Did Brittany really not care about her anymore?

In those seconds where she felt the bile rise up in her throat as she stared at pictures of them… she despised them so wholeheartedly that she was sorry for it afterwards. When the anger subsided, she always felt guilty for even fathoming for one single second that she could hate Brittany. It wasn't true, of course. It was a gut reaction to being hurt. It was instantaneous, spanning a moment or two, and never really lasted once Santana was cognizant that the person she loathed was, in fact, the woman she wanted to be with forever. Then she just felt angry with herself again—_for thinking so little of Brittany_. She felt pathetic for doubting their love, their past. She hated that feeling most of all. However, it seemed to be one reaction that kept resurfacing. It became increasingly more difficult to quell the anger when she saw pictures, like the one of Brittany mounting Sam at Rachel's party. Those images seared themselves into her mind and gave her fuel when she didn't think she could get up in the morning. She had to be better, not just for Brittany—but mostly for herself. She could harness her pain and anger to help herself move on, even if she didn't want to.

* * *

Even though she was angry and loathed all things Lima, Santana still thought about her hometown daily. She often felt like the small, country girl in a big city—even though that wasn't really the case. She never quite forgave the people whose faces transformed into a smirk whenever she mentioned she was from "a small town in Ohio." She could feel the artificial pity ooze out of them as they eyed her like she was a lost lamb, or worse, like some redneck bumpkin. It wasn't all bad though: sometimes this earned her better tips at work. Stout businessmen often asked for the best seats in the house before slipping cash to bribe her to accommodate them. She'd always receive a little extra when she'd wink and mention (in an totally ridiculous fake country accent) that her hometown was so small, any of these tables would be considered prime real estate. It didn't seem to matter that they didn't speak with a Southern twang in Ohio—life moved too fast in New York to worry about the details sometimes.

Truthfully, there were only a few things Santana wondered about when thinking about Lima. She often found her mouth watering when she'd recall _Breadstix_. Once, she'd even managed to convince Kurt and Rachel to bring her some breadsticks back from her favorite restaurant.

"I almost, very nearly completely love you!" She'd shrieked as Kurt produced a bag of breadsticks from his luggage when they'd returned via train. The _Breadstix_ logo was scrawled across the side of the bag. Immediately she snatched it from his hands before squeezing him in an awkward, one-armed hug. Rachel had gotten mad at that because she'd actually paid for the food that Kurt had taken credit for.

But warm, delicious carbs weren't the only thing she pined for. Santana missed her parents, yes. She talked to them weekly and occasionally her dad might mail her a nice check. What she really missed was Brittany. She'd never really understood what it meant to really crave someone, to painfully hunger for their presence deep down in your bones, to feel that exquisite, dull heartache until she missed Brittany. Yes, she'd missed her then-girlfriend when they were apart and Santana was in Kentucky. However, now that all ties were severed and they weren't together romantically, Santana missed the intimacy she'd experienced, for the first time, with the blonde.

Santana pieced together what she thought Brittany's life must be like without her. She and Sam were still together. She knew that Brittany had scored well on her SAT (she'd posted about it on her facebook status) and had the opportunity to get out of Lima. Santana knew that her ex must be looking at various colleges for the fall, but had no way of knowing which ones. The only thing that proved worrisome was the low SAT score that Sam received.

Santana panicked when Kurt mentioned it over coffee one morning, excusing herself to the bathroom to hyperventilate for twenty minutes. He'd brought up the subject possibly to give Santana an ego boost—reminding her that she was superior to Brittany's new boyfriend academically and had a brighter future as well. Her reaction had been unexpected to say the least.

"He got such a low score, it's doubtful that he'll get out of Ohio," Kurt mumbled regretfully, stirring some artificial sweetener into his morning beverage. "I wonder where he'll end up going. He could work as a model for collagen lip implants or something maybe…"

"Very true, Kurt," Rachel had nodded solemnly. "I heard he was looking at some out of state schools, but not anymore." Both had turned to watch Santana's reaction and were wholeheartedly surprised when she looked pale and sweaty. Without another word, she'd dashed to the bathroom.

Santana leaned over the sink, trying to slow her breathing. Everything seemed too bright, like she needed to shut her eyes for a while. She watched her hand tremble as she held it level to her eyes. So what if Sam got a low SAT score? So what if he couldn't go to an out of state college? What was so terrifying about all that? A lump formed in Santana's throat. She knew what she was afraid of.

She feared that if Sam stayed in Lima with no future, Brittany might too. Santana was well aware of the loving, generous nature of her ex-girlfriend, who was so kind that she might abandon her own college dreams for him. Did she really love him enough to stay in Lima? Santana realized that even through their break up and Brittany's rejection, she still assumed that she had a chance post-graduation. If Brittany stayed in Ohio with same, this was nothing more than a pipe dream. This thought scared her more than anything.

Santana refused to mention any more possible future plans for Sam when she finally returned from the bathroom to a questioning glance from her roommates. She suppressed the urge to make a joke that he could get a job as a human anteater or a model for a gender-blind lipstick campaign. She swallowed her worry, suppressed her fears, and asked for the jam instead.

As the end of May approached, it ate away at her to not know how Brittany was doing in school. Had she failed everything again? Did she get into any colleges? Was her future bright?

To find out, Santana subtly asked if everyone was graduating that year. She didn't go into specifics other than that. It was an unassuming question, she'd reasoned. Rachel and Kurt exchanged a look, knowing exactly what Santana was asking.

"Everyone is graduating on time… all the seniors," Rachel had confirmed. Kurt nodded. Santana suppressed any reaction with a short nod.

"That's good," she'd responded, ignoring their incredulous stares. "I'm glad that everyone… managed to get the grades to finish." They knew what she meant even if she didn't say it.

Without expressing it outright, they'd told her that Brittany was graduating. Santana felt a deep surge of pride. Brittany had finally accomplished this task, one that kept them apart. Pride slowly melted into sadness. Santana wanted to be there to see her ex receive her diploma more than anything else—but she knew that she couldn't. She was still a hostess. She made barely enough money to cover her expenses without living in poverty. She hadn't become anything more than a small fish in a big sea. She hadn't made anything out of herself. She wasn't worthy. Not yet.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. A lot of you seem to share the same concerns: Santana is not self-sufficient enough and needs to move on. While I share your sentiment, just know that I am trying to have this story unfold carefully and purposefully. Things will improve. Stay with me- it will be worth it (I hope).

I hope you all enjoy this new chapter. It features some tough love (the kind you've all been waiting for) and some personal growth- so I hope it will satisfy some of those who left the "when is Santana going to stop being so whiny" reviews. Let me know how the story is progressing. Feedback always brightens my day and encourages productivity.

* * *

Santana suffered a great internal struggle in the weeks leading up to graduation. She wasted her nights lying awake, staring at the darkened timber rafters of the loft. She tossed and turned, thoughts pestering her and chasing sleep from her tired limbs. Should she brave a trip to Lima with Rachel and Kurt so she could be there for McKinley High's graduation day? Could be bear seeing Brittany again after the last conversation that she had with the blonde?

In the end, Quinn ended up providing the answer to all of Santana's questions.

"We both know you're not going to Lima next weekend," Quinn stated firmly over the phone on night. Santana was lying in bed atop her comforter carefully applying a coat of grey nail polish to her right hand. "We both know that it would be too… taxing and you'd feel awkward. Kurt and Rachel, though lovely normally-considerate friends, are going to be too wrapped up in Finn and Blaine to be able to give you the emotional support you're going to need if you go. I don't need to delve into why you'd be a wreck, I think that's better left unsaid." Santana didn't argue with this and instead, released a sigh into the receiver. "You know I'm right."

"Shut up, Fabray," Santana hissed. "Did Professor Patches teach you how to psychoanalyze people like some fucking dime store therapist this week in class?"

"I'm going to let that one go, Lopez, only because I know that you lashing out means that I've struck a chord with your insecurities," Quinn snapped back. "Instead of arguing the finer points about how I'm totally wrong apparently and you're not terrified to go back home—I'm going to bypass that bit of nastiness and cut to the chase. Rachel and Kurt are leaving next Friday morning, right? I am taking the train to New York to spend the weekend with you and keep you company."

"You're coming to visit so you can… babysit me?" Santana sounded out slowly. Quinn could sense competing emotions in her voice.

"No. I'm coming to see my friend and get plastered and watch bad TV and eat junk food. Obviously," Quinn mused. "It's settled."

Santana didn't try to put up a fight after that. Even though she hated to admit it, it sounded like exactly what she needed. Mercifully, Quinn changed the subject to an anecdote about how her roommate, Stacey, had locked herself in their dorm room because her Internet boyfriend had dumped her. Santana was only partly listening though. For the first time in what felt like forever, she really had something to look forward to.

* * *

Santana, pacing, listened as her heels clacked against the tile floor of Grand Central station. She had been impatiently waiting for Quinn to arrive for the better part of twenty minutes. She'd thought about checking out Facebook on her phone, but decided against it. Dwelling on the past took up enough of her time. She didn't want to be in a bad mood when Quinn's train from New Haven arrived. She stared down at her shoes, purposefully raising and lowering her heels, attempting to hear the sound over the cacophony of the passersby. A pair of light pink ballet flats entered into her line of vision, prompting her to lift her head.

Santana never thought she'd be so hysterically excited to see Quinn Fabray (of all people).

She looked the same as the last time Santana had seen her—back in late January. Her hair was past shoulder length, falling lightly onto her shoulders. She was wearing another damn sundress, a pink one, and a cream-colored cashmere sweater. College hadn't done anything to deter her impeccable sense of style. She had an overnight back slung over her shoulder and a wide, toothy grin on her face. Despite whatever changes might have altered their personalities or appearances, underneath it all, they were still the same awkward freshman girls who met at cheer camp the summer before their first year at McKinley.

They were both older and wiser now. Quinn had given birth and given away a child for adoption, dealt with a plethora of bad relationships, and managed to escape Lima to Yale. Santana had a set of enhanced features (which Quinn never let her forget), had finally embraced her sexuality and emerged a stronger, more confident woman because of it. Despite these changes, Santana could feel those years slip off, like a robe, and leave her as that fourteen year old, still taken aback by her friend's poise and obvious beauty. Here they were, once frenemies and now real friends, together in New York, in the real world.

Quinn's hazel eyes flashed as this moment of nostalgia passed over them both.

"Santana Fucking Lopez… as I live and breathe," she smirked. She softly dropped her duffel between them. In one swift movement, she grasped Santana's forearms and pulled her close, embracing her friend firmly. "You look like hell, by the way."

"Thanks, Quinn," Santana laughed, letting go after several long moments. "You look like you're off to Easter Sunday or some bullshit. You never will give up that Jesus crap, will you?" Quinn raised an eyebrow in mock hurt and smoothed her sundress proudly.

"Shut up, you know I look amazing," she grinned, bending over to pick up her bag again. Santana beat her to it, hoisting the duffel onto her own shoulder.

"You're a delicate lady, I'm a big strong dyke, remember? Lemme be chivalrous and carry your shit."

"As happy as I am that you've finally embraced all the… nuances of you sexuality… you're hardly butch. Are you sure you can walk in those stripper heels? You might fall and bust open a breast implant and then where would we be?" Quinn winked as Santana rolled her eyes.

"I missed you too," she grumbled with a grin, leading Quinn out of the station and into the fresh air.

* * *

"Can I just say that I'm still amazed that you had the freaking balls to just show up here and announce that you were going to move in?" Quinn admitted later that evening. They'd ordered a mountain of Chinese food from Santana's favorite take out restaurant down the street and were currently in the midst of devouring it.

"I'm a bitch, what can I say?" Santana laughed, helping herself to the last spring roll in the carton. "I think they're both secretly glad that I'm here. I provide a certain… realness… that those two desperately need. Someone has to check them when they're being ridiculous."

"You check them—but who checks you?" Quinn asked suddenly. She'd placed her plate down on the coffee table and turned her attention to the brunette. Her gaze was one of scrutiny, trying not to seem too challenging with her words. Her eyes didn't meet Santana's; her head was down and peering into the cheap white wine she had clutched in her hand.

"What do you mean: _who checks you_?" Santana replied, working to keep her voice even. She wanted Quinn to look at her in the face when she'd questioned her in this fashion but the blonde was impervious to this nonverbal request. "Why would anyone _need_ to check me? I'm as real as they come."

Quinn scoffed aloud at this. Immediately, Santana felt the tone of this conversation shift ever so slightly. She bristled unexpectedly, as if her body was foreshadowing the upcoming words that were coming. Quinn's incredulous throat grunt turned into a long sigh.

"You need to be checked, Santana," Quinn began. She finally raised her eyes to look into the deep, defensive brown ones peering at her from a few feet away. "You need someone to sit you down and tell you to wake the fuck up." Santana almost wanted to drop her plate. The fierceness with which Quinn said that sentence, coupled with her use of a curse word. Swearing was something she very rarely lowered herself and her word choice to—except when trying to prove emphasis.

"Umm…" Santana started to interject. Quinn raised her hand, halting any words from emerging from her gaping mouth.

"Just… stop." She ordered. Santana's voice died in her throat. "We've been friends for a long time. I'd say that I know you pretty well," Quinn began again. "I don't know precisely what sort of… tumultuous relationship that you have with Berry or Kurt… but it's obviously not one where they can speak openly to you about your behavior." Santana felt her body tense. "I'm trying to be honest with you—because that's what friends do. Rachel and Kurt are obviously too petrified of Snix to tell you when you're being a pathetic… wallowing-in-self-pity… nightmare."

"Fuck off, Fabray!" was all Santana could stammer.

"You can tell me to fuck off, but you know it's true. You've been going about all this the wrong way."

"Going about _what_ exactly?" Santana demanded. She could tell that her voice was entering a lower, angrier register. Part of her did agree with Quinn's assessment of the situation. Part of her wanted to smack her wine glass onto her pristine face.

"Brittany."

The room felt as though the air had been sucked out of it. As much as tried not to, Santana couldn't help her posture. She sank into the couch cushion like a deflated balloon.

"I know you don't want to talk about her. It's probably really difficult," Quinn tried to commiserate. "You've briefly mentioned some things that pertained to what happened when we've talked at night. However, I don't think you've ever really dealt with the magnitude of how you feel. That's not healthy, Santana."

"I'll deal with things the way I want to," Santana responded lamely. She reached to the coffee table and snatched up her white wine. Downing it immediately, she poured herself another glass and drank that one too. Quinn watched her with a raised eyebrow. "What?" Santana snapped at her, trying to ignore the look of pity she was receiving at her sloppy behavior.

"You haven't really dealt with things and we both know it. I'm going to be honest with you right now, because we owe each other that much. You—for albeit noble reasons—broke up with her," Quinn reminded her. She shushed her friend when she opened her mouth to respond. "Just—listen. You broke up with Brittany. She tried to get back together; you told her no. She starts dating Sam and you want to get back together. You can't even see outside yourself for one second to realize what Brittany did for you… can you?"

"What she did for me? Besides break my heart and reject me for some… trout-mouthed homophobe?"

"She sent you away to New York so you could become more than who you were stuck in Lima," Quinn argued vehemently. "Instead of taking this opportunity to grow… or to find yourself… or whatever… all you do is sit here and complain about your break up. People break up, Santana, and it's a part of life. You have to get over it. Stop trying to do things for Brittany—because what you _need_ to be doing is trying to accomplish things for _yourself_. What happened to the driven, goal-oriented bitch I used to know? The one who refused to let herself be defined through anyone else?"

"I don't know," Santana mumbled softly. Quinn's words struck a bit too close to home, she realized.

"That Santana would never have defined her happiness _through_ if she was with Brittany. She would define her happiness through herself, with Brittany by her side—not as the judge of whether or not she was content."

Santana just avoided eye contact and sat numbly. She didn't want Quinn to be right. She didn't want to realize that she'd squandered months wallowing in self-pity.

"Your relationship with Brit was a huge part of your life, Santana, no one is denying that," Quinn said softly, reaching out to touch the top of the Latina's hand. "You should want to do things for yourself. You keep rambling on about making something of yourself, getting rich and famous, and then returning for Brittany. You think she ever wanted you because she thought you would be successful? No. None of that matters to her. She wants you to be happy, that's it." Quinn hesitated at this point. She noticed the wet-looking eyes of the other girl. She wanted to stop but knew that she had to finish what she'd come there to say. "When's the last time you did something because it made you happy- and not for her or what you thought she'd want?"

Santana just remained silent. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd celebrated a success or had accomplished something that made her genuinely happy. Everything seemed to be examined through the lens of Brittany. She couldn't even remember the last time she didn't think _would Brittany like this_ before doing something. It made her feel pathetic.

"I don't know," she finally replied, wiping at her eye with her forearm. "I just… she is such a huge part of who I am that it's hard to _divorce myself_ from the idea that anything I do also impacts her."

"You love her… and that's ok," Quinn stated. "But you have to stop this. She isn't your girlfriend. You're a single, attractive lesbian in the greatest city on earth. You have to go live. You're nineteen years old. You don't need to be settling down—you need to be living and growing and making stupid decisions. Do something for yourself that doesn't involve wondering about how Brittany would feel about it."

Quinn leapt up from the couch, almost spilling Santana's wine glass.

"Let's go out. We'll be spontaneous. We'll… do _something_ that you want to do… something that will make _you_ happy," Quinn decided. She reached out to her friend, pulling her to her feet. "Pick something. Let's go be impulsive. Anything. You name it." Santana head swam- from the velocity of standing so quickly in combination with all the wine she'd just consumed.

"Shit, Quinn…" Santana murmured lamely, scratching her head.

"Come on, Lopez. No Facebook stalking, no thinking about Lima. We're just two hot bitches going out," Quinn called as she rooted through her duffel bag. She pulled out her makeup bag and a pair of heels. "Get ready and decide on where we're going—because this is ladies night in the city that never sleeps." With that, she headed off to the bathroom.

A warm rush passed through Santana. Quinn was right. She had spent so much time worrying about her nonexistent relationship, her broken heart, and her still beautiful ex—that she'd lost track of why she was here. She could be anywhere, really. Brittany had encouraged her to seek out the bright lights of New York City, but ultimately, Santana had come here for a reason. She'd come here to make something of her life—but she couldn't define success or her happiness through Brittany anymore. Quinn had been truthful when she reminded Santana that Brittany wouldn't want her to live like that—she'd always just wanted her to be happy.

Fuck. Brittany had obviously moved on anyway. Santana doubted that the other girl even thought of their past relationship as much as she herself did. Brittany seemed more than happy, as she'd straddled Sam in that picture from Rachel's party. She'd been content enough with her boyfriend to reject Santana, even if it had good intentions behind it. She could have said that they'd reevaluate things post-graduation, or that she still loved Santana at least… even the tiniest bit. But she hadn't. She hadn't given any real indication that there was an underlying subtext of _"I still want this, but the timing is wrong." _ There hadn't been any of that.

Santana thought back to the brief kiss she'd initiated after that conversation. She could still feel Brittany's lips against hers. But the kiss was different somehow. It was restrained, dampened, muted. It seemed like Brittany had kissed her back out of obligation or habit. They'd been consistently kissing one another since the summer before sophomore year. Maybe it was just engrained in the blonde. Maybe it was just a natural reflex to connect her lips with Santana's as she leaned forward.

This thought coursed through Santana's brain and reached her defective heart with a sickening surge. It all seemed so clear now. Brittany had politely, in the nicest way possible, obviously tried to convey that she was no longer interested. Santana had just been too stupid to notice.

There was the line drawn in the proverbial sand.

One side of the sand featured Santana wasting away pining for Brittany, who had moved on and was content with someone else. She wasn't Santana's girlfriend anymore… Sam now had the privilege to call her by that term.

The other side of the line was the choice to be _Santana Fucking Lopez_: the driven, confident badass who could go out and conquer the city. She would make _herself_ happy and do things because _she wanted to_, if for no other reason but that. She would take full control of her decisions and the responsibility for her own satisfaction in life. She could no longer rely on anyone else to do that for her.

Quinn almost dropped the curling iron into the sink when Santana burst into the bathroom. Her face seemed different, somehow, she noticed. She had the same burning fierceness that she had back when she was making plans to topple the social order and place herself firmly atop the heap.

"We're going dancing. Hurry up," Santana's voice betrayed her excitement slightly. Quinn couldn't help but smile at this. The brunette ducked out the bathroom, but her head peaked in immediately after. "And you gotta change clothes. You have to wear something sluttier. Doctor's orders."

* * *

As much as it pained her to admit it, Santana was having a blast. She and Quinn had spent an hour donning themselves in a couple of her most "revealing" of dresses and doing their makeup. They finished the bottle of wine in the process, exponentially improving their respective moods. When they headed out, both were comfortably buzzed and ready to dance.

They took the subway to a gay bar in Greenwich Village that she'd heard Kurt gush about. The bouncer had been thankfully lackadaisical in checking for the validity of their two fake IDs and let them in immediately. With a couple of pricey cocktails lighting fires in their bellies, they'd taken the dance floor by storm, commanding everyone's attention with their movements. For once, Santana was actually thankful that cheerleading had toned her body, increased her repertoire of dance moves and improved her rhythm.

Coincidentally, it was Ladies Night at the bar. The place was crawling with lesbians of every size, shape, and dynamic. When they'd initially arrived, Santana briefly worried that her friend might be uncomfortable with the amount of thirsty-eyed gay women swarming around them in the too-hot bar. However, Quinn didn't seem phased, even when they'd both been offered inclusion in a potential lesbian threesome. Instead, she just laughed and said she wasn't drunk enough yet.

Part of Santana felt weird being there. She almost felt like she was cheating on the memory of Brittany by being there. She fended off several interested women at the beginning of the night until Quinn reprimanded her for it.

"You gotta stop this shit right now, Lopez," she'd semi-slurred after Santana had politely declined another invitation to dance. The girl had seemed nice enough but her hair was the wrong color blonde and her eyes were brown. She didn't look like Brittany and so, without giving it much thought, Santana had turned her down. She'd watched the girl retreat to another section of the dance floor. "You're single. There has so be someone here you think is hot." Santana glanced back at the blonde she'd rebuffed. She was actually quite beautiful. Quinn noticed Santana checking her out and drunkenly shoved her towards the other girl. "I'll be fine. Go."

It was strange how different it felt pursuing someone else besides Brittany, Santana noted. She could barely pinpoint the moment when she and her now ex went from just friends to something more. She could remember their first kiss: a quick nervous peck in Santana's pool when they were sixteen—following by giggling and the serious realization that Santana liked kissing Brittany far more than any boy. But now, she felt out of her element. She was rusty, she discovered. However, she was also hot, she reasoned. Being super attractive gives someone automatic game, she mused. She joined the girl at the bar and smiled. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest as she tried to pretend she was totally calm and put together.

"How about that dance?" She said, leaning her head in close to the other girl. She could smell the girl's shampoo (almond-scented or something) and forced herself to ignore the fact that it didn't smell anything like citrus and coconut—like Brittany's did. The blonde smiled at the offer.

"I'm Alex," she introduced herself, shaking Santana's hand as she lead her to the dance floor. Santana shouted her name into Alex's ear as loud as she could. Without another thought, she reached forward and grabbed at the other girl's hips, pulling her closer. The two began to grind and were soon lost in the swelling crowd.

* * *

Quinn hadn't seen Santana in approximately forty-five minutes. Part of her worried that she had broken down in the midst of dancing with that chick and started crying about Brittany. The other part of her worried that Santana had left the club without telling her and had disappeared to go fuck the aforementioned chick. Santana wasn't shitty enough to just… head out… without alerting her. Right? Instead of standing there like an idiot, she could at least walk around.

Quinn made her way through the pulsing, sweaty crowd, trying to see if she could at least locate where the Latina was. Closer to the bathroom, she spotted Santana's green zebra-striped dress. Approaching her friend, she also noticed the blonde that Santana was presently pining up against a wall and grinding on. It was hard to tell if the Latina was courageously administering mouth-to-mouth or had somehow lost her tongue down the other girl's throat. Either way, she was definitely rounding second base, Quinn noticed.

Taken aback slightly, Quinn stood there awkwardly. It felt somehow wrong to _watch_ Santana hook up with someone. She couldn't figure out why though. Could it have been because it was just uncomfortable to see that happening in general? Could it have been that every time she'd seen Santana kissing someone… it was Brittany? She might just be used to seeing the two of them doing that action, she reasoned. They had done it in front of her hundreds of times in the years they'd all known each other. But Santana kissing Brittany looked different, Quinn noted. It always seemed unrushed, like they were both savoring the moment. When she glanced at the way Santana was groping this other chick now, she could tell that there was no emotional connection at all.

Quinn averted her eyes, no longer capable of gawking as her friend continued to grope at the blonde girl. She silently argued with herself. She'd encouraged Santana to go and forget Brittany. Now, she was stuck, basically alone, while Santana followed the advice with gusto and (from what Quinn could see) a lot of tongue.

She sipped her drink awkwardly and bobbed her head to the music, ignoring what was going on a few feet from her. However, once her drink was gone—she was clueless as to what to do next. If she drank any more, she might not be sober enough to get back to the loft. The last thing she needed was to be too drunk and lost in this endless, sleepless giant of a city. She _had_ to interrupt the make out session to regroup. Begrudgingly, Quinn waited until they seemed to pause for breath. When they slowed and broke apart momentarily, she swooped in.

"Santana! Remember me?" Quinn interjected, placing herself close enough to both women to ensure that they couldn't start making out again easily. Santana turned to look at her, and Quinn noticed how fuzzy her eyes looked. The usually sharp brown was unfocused. How much had this girl had to drink while she'd been out of sight?

"Quinn… hey…" Santana mumbled, shifting ungracefully on her feet. Quinn placed a hand on the small of her back to steady her. "This is Allen."

"Alex," the blonde girl corrected. She seemed slightly more sober to Quinn, but still not completely. The girl was eying the hand that was on Santana's back with a sort of detached amusement and a hint of bitterness. "Are you together or something?"

Quinn battled internally for a moment about how to respond. She obviously couldn't leave Santana with this woman—not when her friend could barely stand. At the same time, she didn't have a whole lot of experience playing another girl's girlfriend. In the end, Quinn decided to do what she had to in order to get them home swiftly.

"Yeah, this is _my_ girlfriend," she asserted loudly. She wrapped an arm possessively around Santana's swaying shoulders. "If I ever see your stank ass tonguing her tonsils again, I'll get my recently-paroled brother Chino here fast than you can say: _Scissor me Timbers_." Quinn hoped, upon spouting this at the shocked Alex, that she sounded convincing enough.

The girl looked somewhat shocked at the forcefulness with which the words ejected from Quinn's mouth. She just sort of stood there. Quinn took a deep breath, preparing for the second half of her tirade. This girl was obviously not getting the full picture of what she was capable of.

"_Did I fucking stutter?"_ She snapped. Inwardly, her heart pounded nervously. Outwardly, she confidently pulled Santana to her, crashing their lips together. She pressed her mouth against the other girl's, working against the warmth of the other pair of lips for several long seconds. She needed to make sure that Alex was sufficiently weirded out so she'd leave them alone.

Sure enough, when Quinn released Santana's lower lip softly, the girl was gone.

Quinn smiled at her own cleverness before turning her gaze back to Santana. The brunette's eyes appeared shocked and somewhat focused. Heat quickly rose to Quinn's cheeks.

"Did… you just kiss me?" Santana slurred. Quinn rolled her eyes.

"We will talk about this after we get you home," Quinn promised her. She took Santana's hand in hers, carefully leading her through the crowd.

* * *

When things started to come into focus again, Santana found herself in bed. She was wearing an old oversized tee shirt and panties. Her head throbbed and buzzed, making her slightly nauseous.

"I swear to god, Lopez… if you start puking, I'm out of here." Quinn's voice admonished from the kitchen. The blonde appeared through the curtain after several seconds, bearing a glass of water and some aspirin. Santana sat up, groaning, and accepted both offerings thankfully.

"What happened? How did we get home?" She questioned, tentatively sipping the water before swallowing the pills. "I remember… drinking with some girl… and then very vaguely a taxi cab… and now I'm here." Quinn sat down on the end of the bed and sat crossed-legged facing her.

"All that happened. You went off to talk to some girl and then I found you almost an hour later practically humping by the bathroom," Quinn recounted, watching Santana's eyebrows lift in shock.

"Really?" She asked softly. Quinn nodded solemnly. Santana seemed to think this over for a second before asking, "Well… was she hot?" Quinn couldn't help the smirk that found its way onto her face at this.

"She was cute, I'll give you that," Quinn admitted freely. "You were totally hammered when I found you though. You two must have done a whole mess of shots before I got to you."

"How did we get home? She didn't come with us, did she?" Santana suddenly wondered, worried looking around for the club girl. Quinn shook her head quickly.

"No. I interrupted before you could get her pregnant in the ladies' room and got you out of there," Quinn assured her. "Once I noticed how inebriated you were, I may or may not have said we were together and acted irate in order to scare her off. I told her my brother Chino would come to assist me in dealing with her. Then we left and I got us a taxi home." Quinn paused thoughtfully. "Yeah… now that I think about it- Chino is definitely from _West Side Story_. I threatened her using a musical theater reference—Kurt and Rachel would be so proud." Santana laughed at this, tucking herself underneath the covers.

"So you told her we were together… and then brought me home and undressed me… and tucked me in? You're the best fake girlfriend ever, Fabray," she playfully complimented. "I think all those gay pheromones in the bar went to your head. You just _had_ to sneak a peak at my amazing rack, even if it was under the pretense of undressing my drunk ass."

Quinn groaned and rolled her eyes again. "Don't flatter yourself, Santana Lopez. I closed my eyes and just prayed that one of your implants wouldn't pop on me," she smirked. Santana looked like she was going to swat her with a pillow, but grimaced at the movement, remembering her headache too late. She shifted back down onto the bed instead.

"Wait… did we kiss?" Santana suddenly asked, her memories focusing slightly. "I barely recall you kissing me… did that happen?" She eyed Quinn and watched the blonde blush. "Oh my god! You totally kissed me while you were playing my girlfriend, didn't you?"

Quinn shrugged. "The role called for it," she murmured nonchalantly. She cringed as Santana broke out into a fit of laughter, ignoring the pounding in her temples.

Santana managed to quiet her giggling down for a moment. "Was it good?" She asked, trying to keep a straight face.

"Your giant pillow lips made it far less uncomfortable than I would have imagined," Quinn resigned herself to admitting. "Not that I'm going all lez on you—but it wasn't terrible. There… happy?!" Santana nodded, stifling her chuckling.

"I am happy—this is the happiest I've felt in months," she realized, whispering quietly. "Thank you, Quinn… for keeping an eye on me and getting me home safely. You're a good friend." Quinn smiled at this and leaned over, hugging her friend firmly.

"Things are going to get better, I promise. Every day it will get easier. Maybe one day you and Brittany can be friends again," Quinn offered. She instantly regretted uttering the blonde's name. Santana's cheeks lost their color suddenly. She swallowed hard and forced a smile at Quinn, saving face.

"Yeah… maybe."

* * *

Santana and Quinn stayed up talking in bed and sipping more wine for the rest of the night. They talked about the past and the future—but stayed away from the topic of Brittany. When the sun started peaking through the windows, Santana let out of a forceful yawn.

"I think I'm about to pass out," she admitted, stretching her hands out. Several joints popped in the process. Her outstretched limb narrowly missed knocking over their glasses and two empty bottles of wine, which was all left for the night on Santana's nightstand. Quinn nodded her head, yawning. She climbed out of the bed as Santana glanced over. "Where are you going?"

"I was just going to crash in Kurt's bed. I'd sleep in Rachel's but for some reason, I feel like Kurt's sheets are going to be super soft and really comfortable Egyptian cotton," Quinn explained. Santana looked downright sad at the prospect of Quinn leaving the bedroom. For the first time all night, Quinn could really see the fear rooted deep within her friend, the fear of being alone. It broke her heart. "Unless… you want me to sleep in here with you?"

Santana tried to play off the panicked side of her that she'd just accidently showed. "It's whatever. Kurt does have really nice sheets. But it might be nice to have… someone else in the bed with me again. It makes me feel like… I'm not so… alone." Santana didn't know why she was allowing her mouth to admit this to Quinn. But judging by the empathetic look on the other girl's face, she knew what being lonely felt like too.

Quinn turned off the light on the nightstand and slowly slid into the bed next to Santana. They lay in silence, watching streaks of light seep in through the large East-facing windows. Quinn could sense how tense her friend was next to her, their bodies resting at polar-opposites on the bed, both laid on the sides, backs to one another. She sighed, knowing what Santana needed… and what she had the ability to offer. She briefly wondered how long it had been since the other girl had any sort of prolonged human contact. The thought that Santana had gone months without it made her sad- and only reaffirmed her desire to be there for her friend.

"Hey San," she whispered softly. Santana jerked unexpectedly next to her, jarred by the sudden noise.

"Huh?"

"Do you want to cuddle?" Quinn asked. Santana's body froze. "I'll let you be the little spoon if you want… whichever one works for me."

"I was always the big spoon… with Br—" Santana's response just sort of trailed off. She didn't have to finish the sentence for Quinn to understand. "I'm the big spoon. If you tell anyone—I mean _anyone_-that I cuddled with you like we were little sleeping babies… I swear Snix will make an appearance." Quinn nodded and smiled at this, even if Santana couldn't see her face with the blonde's back facing her.

Moments later, Quinn felt the bed shift. Suddenly, Santana wrapped her arms around her frame protectively. She smelled a little like the sharp, antiseptic scent of alcohol… but also some sort of unidentifiable warmth that Quinn had never been close enough to notice. Her arms were strong and held her with just the right amount of pressure. How many people ever got to see this side of Santana Lopez? How many people knew how vulnerable she could be? How many people knew how much courage she'd shown by staking out on her own, coming to this strange city and forcing herself to move on?

Quinn wondered, her mind growing hazy. Santana's hot breath, nipping at the back of her neck, had started to slow—evidence that she was falling asleep too. She suddenly knew, in one instant, that the only other person who experienced the soft, tender side of Santana had been Brittany. Brittany was the answer to all those rhetorical questions. Brittany would have understood all the loneliness, all the anger, and all the bravery that raged inside Santana. She probably still did.

Santana began to snore softly into Quinn's ear. It wasn't an unpleasant sound, but rather, it provided a small amount of proof that this was all really real. This wasn't a figment of either of their imaginations. Two friends, probably still a little drunk, found solace in being close. They were easy unbroken habits, well-trodden paths, reflex responses to one another. It wasn't awkward-it was easy to let Santana hold her, Quinn realized, because if the situation were reversed… she would rely on the other girl in just the same way.

This was probably how it had been with Brittany, Quinn yawned. They had been so intimate, even from the beginning, that being this close was probably easy… as easy as breathing to them. Their love seemed predestined and automatic. Santana probably held her in the exact same fashion: with protective arms, warm breath on her neck, bodies pressed close. Perhaps the only difference between their embraces and this one, Quinn reasoned before slipping away, was that Santana probably held Brittany closer and tighter, fit her body into the blonde's curves… and peppered her neck and shoulders affectionately with small kisses.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

**Author's note: **

I'm so pleased with the response I got with chapter 7. People seemed to really enjoy the Quinntana friendship and their kinda crazy dynamic. Santana is becoming more self-assured and autonomous, chapter by chapter. Thank you for the lovely comments- keep them up!

Read! Review! Reread!

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when Santana's eyes opened, slowly, one at a time. Her head felt like mush. Her hangover was only worsened by the cheap nature of the alcohol that she and Quinn downed last night. The sun streamed in through the windows, piercing the heavy curtains and causing her to shut her eyes against the harsh light.

Her arms were almost numb, she realized through closed eyes. The scent of warm spice filtered through her nose as she noticed that her face was pushed against the back of a blonde-haired girl's neck. For a fleeting moment, she thought it was Brittany. Then the memories of the past evening flooded over her, like thick tar coating her heart and thickening her swallow. The drinking, the making out at the bar, the cuddling—all of it made her just want to keep her eyes shut and avoid life. But she couldn't. This was happening.

Santana opened her eyes again, forcing herself to allow time for her pupils to dilate so she could see properly. She slept in her contacts last night—which probably didn't help with her massive hangover, she mused. As she became fully coherent, Santana noticed the somewhat intimate embrace that she and Quinn are locked in. They were spooning like an old married couple, with her arms still holding her friend tight, their bodies pressed against one another. Perhaps Quinn would be too hung over to notice that Santana smelled her hair and tenderly snuggled with her all evening.

Santana's hopes of this were dashed as Quinn rolled over to reveal that she was very much awake.

"It's some expensive hair product," her voice rumbled out of her throat, surprising them both. Santana's eyes rose in shock, unused to hearing her friend sound so… masculine. It was deep and lower in timbre than usual—thick with sleep.

"What?" She questioned, dragging her partially numb limbs from the other girl's torso where they'd rested all morning. She smoothed her hair and tried to pretend like she hadn't clung to Quinn's back all evening.

"You've been sniffing my hair for the last ten minutes," Quinn stated, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "I just thought I'd let you know what that scent is that you've been moaning into." Santana groaned aloud, embarrassed. "It's really ok… I know I'm hot and my hair smells awesome. I'm flattered, really."

"Fuck off," was the only response the blushing brunette could muster. Quinn laughed again, understanding fthat she'd shamed her friend completely. She shifted the covers back and climbed out of the bed, leaving Santana there to sulk.

"I'm going to eat some cereal," the blonde announced, exiting through the curtain into the bright openness just beyond it. Santana rolled onto her back, staring up at the rafters above her. It wasn't her fault that Quinn's hair smelled good, she internally pointed out; anyone given the opportunity would have done the same damn thing.

* * *

Today already sucked. Santana had settled on it. Hours away in Lima, Brittany was probably preparing to head to the auditorium. She'd be wearing the same red cap and gown that Santana had a year ago. She'd be all smiles, showcasing bright white teeth to dozens of cameras today. Mr. and Mrs. Pierce would take tons of pictures and cluck around her, straightening her cap and expressing how proud they were. Sam would probably take her aside before the ceremony and kiss her. It wasn't fair that he got to share in this moment with her, Santana fumed. He'd never believed in her the way she did. She would give just about anything at this point for a chance to watch Brittany cross that stage and receive her diploma. But she couldn't. She'd passed on that opportunity. She could feel proud, but she had forfeited the right to be there to share in the accomplishment beyond that.

To make matters worse, her boss called her around five in a panic. She'd scheduled the days off because of Quinn's visit, but Thomas called her anyway. He begged her come in, pleaded actually. Four coworkers had called in with food poisoning from an all-staff dinner that Santana had conveniently missed the night before. He was short staffed on the busiest night of the week and desperate for her to come in to work. The only upside of his request was that Santana stood to make a lot of spending money if she did it—which was appealing to her bank account.

"Please…. I'll give you time and a half for it. You can have all the tips…" he whimpered over the phone. Usually Santana would be salivating with all the power she held over this poor man, but today was so too cranky and hungover to care much.

"I'm hungover, Thomas. I'm extra mean today. You want your patrons to deal with Snix?" She'd questioned, eyes apologetically shining at Quinn. Thomas answered yes anyway.

"Just try not to yell at anyone famous. I only need you here from six until midnight. I just glanced at the reservations and we have a vastly important client on the books tonight. Please… do me this favor, Santana," he'd asked again. She could almost envision him knelt before her, hands clasped like in prayer, begging. She rolled her eyes for good measure (even if he couldn't hear that) and put him on hold.

"They've got nobody available to work and several stinking rich people with reservations tonight. Do you mind if I go in? You can stay here and watch TV or something. I'll be back just after midnight. I'll bring a nice bottle of booze home—one that I will be able to afford with all the cash I'd be making…" she whined to Quinn.

Quinn rolled her eyes and yawned.

"I don't care. Go work. I'll nap the whole time you're gone and wake up refreshed—ready to drink that expensive booze you're going to be bringing home, right?"

Santana's face into a smile and she nodded. She removed her hand from the receiver of the phone and told Thomas that she'd be there. She seriously owed Quinn one. She was almost happy to be going to work. There, she'd be so busy that she wouldn't have time to dwell on Quinn's words from the previous evening or the fact that she was consciously missing Brittany's graduation.

* * *

As fate would have it, Santana was super busy hostessing that night. She was swamped with seating the rich snobs who sauntered up to her podium, fetching drinks because they didn't have enough waiters, and occasionally bussing the tables herself. She was half-starved and her head was pounding by the end of the evening. The worst part of it all was the fact that the "big important patron" that Thomas had been worried about didn't even show up. By eleven thirty, Santana was ready to call it a day and head home with her wad of tips that she'd accrued.

She was lingering at her station, ready for Thomas to release her for the night when the door opened, letting in a rush of air from outside. Santana watched as a slender, grey-haired man strode into the restaurant and right up to her. He had expensive looking clear-framed glasses on and a three-piece suit that was perfectly tailored to his build. His shoes looked more expensive than Santana's entire wardrobe combined. The man barely made eye contact with her as he stood impatiently by the podium.

"Good evening sir, welcome—" Santana's routine greeting was interrupted by the gentleman. He cut into her speech, as if he was already bored by whatever it was that she had to tell him.

"I have a reservation under the name _Booth_," he barked. Santana's blood heated within her veins. Her head throbbed even harder as she tried to keep the fake smile plastered to her face.

"Yes, Mr. Booth. I see you had a reservation for… nine o'clock?" Santana reaffirmed. How nice- this douche bag showed up two and half hours to his own reservation. She glanced back around over the restaurant to see if there was an open table where she could seat him. Because he showed up so late, the table he'd been expecting was occupied. The hottest tables in the place tended to fill up fast. "The table you reserved has been occupied, given your tardiness. Can I seat you somewhere else?" The man now turned to make eye contact for the first time since he entered the restaurant. He gazed at her with a glare that reeked of something akin to: "you peasant, how dare you offer me a sub-par table?"

"That won't do. I want my table. Move the other patrons and I'll see that their tab is paid for their inconvenience," he growled at her through clenched teeth. Santana nodded curtly and left him there. She talked to the people at the other table that seemed mildly insulted that their meal had to be interrupted. They immediately asked to see her manager for suggesting such a tacky request. Santana had to go and track down Thomas—trying to explain the situation quickly to him as he walked briskly with her to the table.

"I'm so sorry about the inconvenience," he apologized. "Please enjoy a complimentary bottle of wine for your interruption." He pulled Santana aside angrily. "Why the fuck would you ask them to move? What the hell is the matter with you?" He hissed. She gestured to the Booth gentleman standing impatiently by the door.

"That Booth guy was late for his reservation. He wanted their table. He told me that he'd pay for their meal if they moved," she told him, as nicely as she could. She didn't like having to deal with unnecessary bullshit in general, but this (combined with her growling stomach and headache) was pushing her to her limits of forced kindness. Thomas glanced over to the man she was referring to and his eyes widened significantly.

"Fuck—that's Booth. He's the important patron I mentioned earlier. Shit. I'll go move that table, you clear it off and seat him when I'm done. All the waiters have gone home. Can you please take care of him and you can go afterwards?" Thomas stammered. He waited for Santana to sigh and then he thanked her quickly, moving past her to talk to the customers he'd just apologized to. Santana did as she was told and when the table was clean, walked back over and grabbed a menu.

"Sorry about the wait, sir," she made herself say. Booth didn't look impressed.

"I'm sorry too. This experience has already been frustrating. I don't like to wait for tables, please remember that if I decide to come back to this restaurant ever again," he snapped at her. He followed Santana to the table and pushed past her to sit down. He practically snatched the menu from her hands. "Bring me a bottle of Grey Goose and a glass with ice."

Santana counted to ten as she walked to the bar. Her bartender friend Liam was working that night (he managed to not get sick from the all staff dinner somehow) and he sent her an apologetic smile.

"We're almost done, Santana," he offered as he opened a new bottle of the chilled vodka. He filled a glass with ice and Santana smiled weakly back at him as she turned to head back to the table. Booth was typing away on his smartphone when she approached with his drink. She set it down carefully as to not disturb him. Without looking up at her, he groaned.

"I asked for _ice in a glass_… not a _glass_ with _an ice cube_. Please rectify this situation." He shoved the glass away from himself. Santana could feel her blood boiling now.

"Yes, sir," she muttered through clenched teeth.

He still didn't look at her when she came back moments later with a glass filled to the brim with ice.

"There you are, sir. Can I get you anything else?" Santana questioned, keeping her tone light and pleasant. Booth managed to remove one hand from his phone and roughly handed her the menu.

"I want the Porterhouse, rare," he demanded. Santana nodded (even though he wasn't watching) and walked off. She was only too happy to get away from that asshole for a few minutes.

Santana talked with Liam as he cleaned up the bar while she waited for the steak to finish cooking. Once it was ready, she took it over to the table, presenting it to the man who ordered it.

"Here you are, sir. One Porterhouse steak, rare."

Booth was still on his phone but he set it down when his steak came. He cut into the meat quickly and cut off a piece. He held the chunk of Porterhouse aloft on his fork, examining it while Santana stood there awkwardly. He eyed it carefully before turning his gaze to her.

"This steak is _medium rare_. That is not what I ordered. Please send it back," he demanded. He set his fork and knife down with a clink and handed the plate back to Santana as she stood there, trying not to snap. "I see you're _Hispanic of some sort_, perhaps _you_ could speak the native tongue to the immigrant cooks back there so my next steak is cooked correctly." With that, he went back to his phone… like she was barely worth his time.

Santana's mouth filled with blood as she bit her tongue too hard. It wasn't worth it, she decided. This job, as well as it paid, wasn't worth being talked to like she was some dumb, second-class citizen. She wasn't about to let some asshole with money try to buy her silence as he said horrible, offensive things. Rolling over and taking it was never her strong suit. She wasn't about to start now with this douchebag business man who couldn't even make eye contact with her. Fuck that.

"Sir," she growled in a low voice. Booth turned his attention back to her. "You can go _fuck yourself_." His eyes went wide.

"_Excuse me?!_" Booth recoiled, shocked. Santana gulped. She couldn't help it. She'd transformed into Snix by this point. The alter ego had emerged from the depths of her to rear its bitchy head. She couldn't stop herself from going all Lima Heights on this asshole.

"You might have money—from doing whatever it is that you do. I know I'm just some hostess but I will _never_ lower myself to let someone treat me like shit… or make offensive remarks about my heritage. I will undoubtedly get fired for this—but not before I tell you that you are a shitty person for coming in here and acting everyone around you is disposable. You can't treat people like they're nothing and you're a bad person for believing that you can. So once again, _fuck off_," she stated firmly. Santana turned and started to walk away as quickly as she could towards the back. She needed to grab her jacket and purse from the back before she was told to never come back ever again.

"_You_. Come back here," she heard coming from behind her. She slowed her pace and turned to see Booth almost smirking at her, sipping his vodka. He waved her back over. She took slow, hesitant steps until she was standing next to the table. He cocked his head at her, looking her over briefly, with that half-grin still plastered to his face. He took another long gulp of his drink and gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit down."

Slightly in shock, Santana hesitated for a few long seconds. When he finally, seriously, gestured at the seat, she sat down opposite of him and stared. Booth had a glint in his eye as he finished his glass of vodka. He turned his head to the bar where Liam was standing there, mouth open, having seen what just transpired at the table only several feet from him.

"Sir, can you please bring out another glass with ice? And can I get a rare porterhouse, please?" He asked semi-jovially. Liam just nodded dumbly. Booth turned back to Santana and resumed looking her over. "What's your name?" He finally asked. Santana felt as if her entire mouth had gone dry.

"Santana Lopez," she managed to tell him. He thought this over for a few moments for some reason. Then he pushed the medium-rare porterhouse towards her.

"Here, Santana Lopez. You've earned this," he stated. He slid a set of cutlery towards her. She just sat there with her hands in her lap, staring at the steak. It cost more than she made a couple hours of work. She glanced back up at him in disbelief.

"Please, enjoy it. I have my own coming out," he encouraged her. Liam brought over a glass of ice and told Booth the other steak would be ready shortly. Once the bartender departed, Booth poured Santana a serving of vodka and sat back in his chair, watching her approvingly. She tentatively squinted at him, utterly confused by the last several minutes' events.

"Um… no offense… but what the fuck is going on?" She asked him finally. Her stomach was growling and she really wanted to eat the steak, but not before finding out his angle. Booth smiled at her and poured himself more vodka.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" He said simply. She paused for a moment and then shook her head. "I didn't think so. Anyone who knows who I am… would never speak to me like you just did."

"I'm sorry about that… you were just being…" she trailed off, unsure about continuing.

"No, I completely agree. I was being rude. I apologize, Ms. Lopez. You were entirely right about what you said. I never should have insulted your cultural heritage. That was completely uncalled for," he told her sincerely. He gestured to the steak again with his hand. Santana couldn't stand it anymore and began eating it. It was delicious; she almost moaned aloud at how good it was. "Like I was saying, people who know who I am would never have told me to fuck off. Perhaps that's the problem. Not to be narcissistic, but I happen to be rather wealthy and influential. People get scared easily around me… like I'm going to buy and sell their families if they don't do something correctly. It has been years since anyone has been…_ forward enough_… to call me when I'm being rude. But you just did," he murmured thoughtfully.

Liam approached with the steak and set it down in front of Booth carefully. He backed away slowly, like he was terrified of receiving a verbal lashing like Santana did. He scampered away to finish cleaning up the bar. Booth sliced into the steak and smiled when he discovered it was cooked properly.

"Who are you?" Santana piped up, finding her voice finally. This gentleman, who went from being so cold to somewhat lukewarm, intrigued her. His reaction to the wrath of Snix hadn't been what she'd expected. "I know Thomas, my manager, said you were an important client… but I don't know who you are otherwise." Booth was silent for a few moments, enjoying his food before he paused to take a drink and gaze at Santana.

"My name is Damien Booth, I'm an Executive Producer at Metropolis Records. Maybe you've heard of us?"

Santana almost choked on her steak. She chugged her glass of vodka down, despite the stinging in her throat as she did so. She coughed several more times, hard, before she could even answer him.

"Metropolis Records? Yes… I've heard of you. There are dozens of artists I love on that label… _Beats Abernathy? Pajama and the Parties? The Mausoleums?_ They're all on Metropolis," she gushed. Booth nodded along with her list of recording artists.

"A few of our success stories," he agreed. "We have a lot of emerging talent on the label too. I'm working on several large projects with some artists that I think will do quite well."

Santana was still amazed that she was sitting across the table from a music mogul.

"I appreciate the fact that you checked me just then, Ms. Lopez," Booth started, leaning his weight forward on his elbows. "I was late for my reservation tonight because I had to… put out a fire at work, if you will. Not a real fire, but more like a—_my once-trusted assistant leaked the new Scream Bloody Murder album on the Internet for cash and has royally fucked _everything up type of issue," he admitted. Santana's mouth dropped open. That album wasn't due to be released for months and now… they'd lose millions due to illegal leaked downloads. Booth went on. "Needless to say, she's been served with legal papers and it was an exhausting mess. I have been under a lot of stress because of it and I'm sorry to say that you took the brunt of it," Booth explained apologetically. Santana just nodded dumbly. He sipped his drink again and smiled at her. "From the way that you told me off, I can tell that you have a fire in your belly and integrity to stand up to people. Since I had to fire Jennifer over that bit of unpleasantness, I'm looking for a new assistant."

"A new assistant? To you? At your record label?" Santana stammered. This sounded too good to be true. What was he implying? Was she just imaging where this sounded like it was going?

Booth eyed her carefully. "I need a straight-shooter. I don't want someone who will kiss my ass and sugarcoat shit when the album sounds terrible or the art direction seems completely wrong. I need someone willing to tell me to fuck off and so things get done correctly. You seem like you have a fire in you, I can feel it from here. What do you say, Ms. Santana Lopez?"

"Are you… offering me a job?" She gulped.

"Yes. We can negotiate salary and benefits when you start—but you'll be well compensated if that was an issue," he stated. Santana felt like fainting.

"But… I'm fresh out of high school. I don't know anything about the music business."

"You'll learn. And you're young enough to relate to the important demographics. You're an insider on what is popular… what will sell. It's a win-win, really. You've got the job as long as you're willing to tell me to shut the fuck up when it's necessary," Booth chuckled. He handed her a business card with his name and the address of a very well known and prominent downtown building and suite number on it.

"Shut… the… fuck… up…" Santana murmured, feeling the embossed letters on the card beneath her fingers. "I'm dreaming, right?" She stammered. Booth winked at her and finished his vodka.

"You're very much away, Ms. Lopez, and very much hired if you want the position."

"Of course I do," Santana said confidently. Booth nodded his head at her, a grin on his face. She extended her hand to him and he shook it firmly.

"Good. When can you start?"

* * *

Quinn was planted on the couch, bathed in a soft glow of luminescence from the television, when Santana arrived back at the loft. It was almost two in the morning. The blonde turned around, resting her chin in the back of the sofa, and stared silently as she watched Santana. The Latina was humming joyously as she dropped her purse and jacket onto kitchen table. She had a large paper sack with her that clinked as she carefully set it down on the counter.

"You're in a good mood considering work kept you until past two," Quinn offered lazily. Santana twirled around, resting her back against the sink and crossed her arms. She tried to look serious but she still had a triumphant smirk on her lips.

"I don't work there anymore," she stated. Quinn's eyes widened.

"Oh god… did you get fired? What happened? If you lost your job, then why are you smiling like an idiot?" The blonde asked, firing questions off at her. Santana shrugged.

"Who says I got fired? Maybe I quit."

"Why would you quit? I thought you liked that job… well… liked it enough? You made pretty good money and you got free drinks after closing, right?" Quinn murmured, getting up from the couch to station herself atop the counter next to Santana. "Is everything alright? What's going on?"

Santana opened the bag silently and handed Quinn what was inside. It was a bottle of extremely expensive tequila. The blonde's eyebrows flew up into her hair as she saw what she was holding.

"Jesus… this stuff is like eighty bucks a bottle? What aren't you telling me?" She demanded. The Latina floated around the kitchen, seizing two glasses and an ice cube tray before turning back to her friend.

"The special patron that Thomas mentioned—turns out that guy is a wealthy, hot shot executive music producer for Metropolis Records. His name is Damien Booth," Santana started. She could barely contain her excitement and the pleasure of teasing Quinn had worn off. Quinn just nodded at this, observing her friend's hands as she opened the bottle of liquor and added ice to the glasses. "He showed up two and a half hours late for his reservation, made me move other diners from his special table, acted like a total dick… and when I told him to fuck off…"

"You told this exec to _fuck off_? What is wrong with you, Santana? Must you go all Lima Heights on everyone?" Quinn interjected, scolding.

"Would you fucking let me finish?" Santana defended. "When I told him to fuck off… he said he appreciated my forwardness and spunk… and offered me a job."

"Wait… what?" Quinn babbled, somewhat incoherently.

"He offered me a job as his assistant," Santana held a glass of tequila out for her shocked friend. "I start in a week. I'm going to make crazy money, get ridiculous perks, and I'll have a foot in the door of the largest record label in New York. Not bad for a night's work, eh?" She clinked glasses with the tumblr of liquor that Quinn still held stationary in her hand, unmoved and stunned. "I quit the restaurant, took all my tips and bought this delicious alcohol for us to celebrate with." Santana downed the tequila in one straight shot. Quinn shook her head as if trying to wake her brain up.

"This… really happened? You're not messing with me?" She mumbled softly. Santana pulled Booth's business card from her pocket and handed it over to the blonde with a cocky smile.

_"That really happened."_

Quinn examined the embossed card with a shaky hand while she cupped her drink in the other, trying not to spill. She peered up at Santana after reading over it a few dozen times.

"Holy shit," she said simply. She thrust her body off the counter and into Santana's arms, hugging her tightly. "This is fucking huge… this is beyond huge. This is how you make your mark."

Santana's eyes widened as Quinn continued to embrace her firmly. This was how she could make something of herself. This is how she could make herself, her parents… and possibly Brittany (if she still cared about Santana at all)… proud. She'd finally found something to work towards and get up in the morning for… besides Brittany. It was scary but also invigorating at the same time. This was the cusp of a fantastic opportunity. Santana now felt confident that she had the fervor for life and the thirst for new experiences to reach out and seize it.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

* * *

Despite her constant comments about how ridiculous and lame her roommates were Santana could barely contain her excitement for them to arrive home that Sunday afternoon. Quinn only had afternoon classes on Monday so she'd planned on staying Sunday night in the city. Before Rachel and Kurt's train got in around six, they tossed out all the empty booze bottles and cleaned the loft. It was strange how easily Santana fit into this unusually domestic role, Quinn noticed as she watched the Latina fluff the pillows on the couch and dust the bookshelf. Though she would never admit it, it was quite obvious that the brunette loved living with her roommates and took pride in their home together. She'd even dragged Quinn down the street to her favorite bodega to buy groceries for the house (including a carton soy milk for Rachel). Though she'd complained about the soy-based purchase, Santana still seemed proud that she was being considerate.

Promptly at six, they waited around Grand Central, sipping coffee and people watching. Eventually, they'd spotted Kurt and Rachel in the midst of the swarms of commuters. Though Rachel was loud, her shrill voice somehow rising above the clamor of the crowd—it was Kurt's hair… excessively high and pointy that stood out first. Santana and Quinn waved enthusiastically and they all exchanged hugs and "how are you doings" all around.

Santana was basically foaming at the mouth to share her good news with the pair, but held off so she could mention it casually over dinner. She'd planned out this elaborate scenario where she'd toss it into the conversation like a loaded grenade and then watch it explode in the form of shocked faces and bouts of congratulations. Instead she just contained her excitement and listened to Quinn and the other two chat as they took the subway home.

When dinner approached, there were still several conversations that hadn't been broached. They'd ordered Indian food and though there hadn't been a lull where silence had befallen them, there were certain things going unsaid. The first, Santana had yet to mention her new job, even as they all sat down around the kitchen table to eat. The second was any news regarding the graduation ceremony or their friends in Lima. They all acted as though they'd have to eventually talk about the events that had happened while they'd all been apart, but no one had the stomach to start the discussions they'd need to have.

Finally, between her second and third pieces of Nan bread, Santana revealed her big news.

"So something big happened to me this weekend," she started, garnering all their attention.

"Are you going to tell them about us kissing or the other thing?" Quinn mumbled to her as quietly as she could. Santana rolled her eyes as Kurt yelped.

"You two kissed? Tell me everything!" He shrieked. His head snapped to Rachel. "We leave for one weekend and these two hook up? Unbelievable. We have terrible timing." He glanced back to Quinn who was blushing under Santana's angry gaze. "Question: do those puffy lips feel as soft as they look? She uses this… plumbing gloss and I'm wondering if it's worth investing in. I don't want to sacrifice moisturizing for lip volume though…"

"Jesus, Kurt," Santana interjected, frustrated. "Can you dial the gay back a notch?" Taking a deep breath, she sighed and then downed a gulp of wine for courage. "Yes, Quinn and I kissed this weekend. Long story short: we went out, I got too drunk, and _she_ pretended to be _my_ angry girlfriend. She kissed _me,_ technically speaking. End of story—nothing else happened."

"But… I usually get to play your fake girlfriend out at bars…" Rachel whined, almost hurt at this. Santana just rolled her eyes.

"There is real news, ok? Important news. Do you want to hear about that or do you want to lament over Quinn stepping in as my fake girlfriend and us sharing a very tame kiss," she snapped. "Wait… was it tame? Was there tongue? I never asked." It was Quinn's turn to roll her eyes then.

"You going to tell them or you want me to?" She quipped back. Santana practically shouted "no" at her back.

"I'll tell them… I want to tell them," Santana muttered. Kurt and Rachel both shared an amazed glance.

"What is this news?" Kurt said in awe. "You didn't get a role in a porno film did you, Santana?"

"Ugh _no_. I quit my job at the restaurant," she began. Quickly, she flicked her wrist and halted their complaints about her not having a job and being unable to make rent. "I got another job already. You're looking at the new personal assistant for Mr. Damien Booth, executive producer for Metropolis Records."

To say that Kurt and Rachel's mouths dropped open might be an understatement. To say that they dropped open and the constantly loud duo were dead silent for long seconds might be more accurate.

Santana felt a swelling pride within her as she watched their expressions. This is felt as good as she hoped it would. For the first time in the almost four month history of them living together, it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop in their loft. Quinn sipped her wine and smiled at her beaming friend.

"Damn…" was all Kurt could muster. Rachel too looked almost too shocked to speak. Instead of uttering a sound, she pushed back her chair and strode over to her roommate. She seized her, embracing her hard.

"Congratulations!" She eventually mumbled after Kurt leapt up to join her in hugging Santana. "This is… amazing… spectacular news… seriously."

"To Santana and her new job!" Quinn interjected, hoisting her glass up in a toast. Rachel and Kurt mirrored her movements and they all clinked their chalices together in celebration.

* * *

Santana felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. She watched, softly smiling, as Rachel and Kurt began to animatedly describe how incredible the opportunity was and then sing numbers from their favorite artists on the Metropolis label. Quinn joined in eventually and Santana couldn't help but to laugh along with them as they decided to use some of Kurt's scarves (he had a large, gay collection) for emphasis during the songs. The three of them disappeared off to Kurt's room to sift through his "Fabulous Trunk"—filled with a plethora of costume choices.

She gradually became lost in thought as she lost interest in an argument that began brewing over a specific, ridiculous scarf.

"You know I always get the knock off Hermes, Rachel," Kurt snapped from the curtained-off portion of his room.

"You hog that scarf, Mr. Hummel," Rachel quipped back animatedly, "especially when it doesn't even match your eyes!"

"God, stop bickering," Quinn finally interrupted. "Give me that damn thing. There—it goes with my eyes!"

Santana briefly considered getting up to go join in on the fight—but something kept nagging her. It was a thought at the back of her mind, pestering and festering. She'd find her niche, something to do in the city that could allow her to make a name for herself. She was so overwhelmingly thankful but at the same time… she felt like this celebration with her friends was missing something. Rather, it was missing someone.

She wondered what Brittany was doing at that moment. She wanted to call her suddenly. It was something she'd been avoiding for months. Santana just wanted to hear her voice and to tell her that she'd finally done something worth mentioning. She wanted to ask how graduation was and what Brittany's future plans were. She wanted to make up for lost time and describe every detail of her new life to the blonde's avidly listening ear.

She wanted to know if she was still happy with Sam—and if she was that was ok. All Santana wanted was for her to be content, even if it was with someone else. She wanted to tell the blonde that she loved her, surprisingly more and more every single day. She wanted to say those words, the ones that used to scare her and fill her heart with dread. She wanted to say those words, even if she didn't hear the same words back. She wanted to say them because they were how she felt, down to the truest part of herself, and she'd missed being able to say them aloud to the girl that made her feel that way.

Santana glanced down at her phone. She willed her fingers not to move. She wanted to stop her wrist from scrolling through the contacts and finding Brittany's name. She stopped and sat there, staring at the entry titled "Britt Britt"—and found herself unable to press it. She watched, as her phone remained illuminated and then faded to black.

She was still a coward- even after all this time. It wasn't fair. She should be stronger than this… but she wasn't. She couldn't say any of those words to Brittany—because it would hurt too much. She wanted to think she was mature enough to really believe her own words, her enlightened speeches about exes moving on to become friends and being supportive when the other had moved on… but she couldn't lie to herself. The truth was she didn't want her ex to be happy with Sam. She wanted Brittany to be miserable like she was. She wanted the blonde to miss her with an aching, so poignant and sharp, that it was as if a piece of her was missing—because that's exactly how Santana felt. It was cruel to wish such emotional misfortunes on someone she loved so much, but she couldn't help it. She just wasn't capable of being satisfied with the fact that Brittany was happy with someone else—even though she felt shameful and embarrassed at the truth of it all.

Maybe she wasn't a good person. Maybe she wasn't mature or forgiving or kind. Maybe she wasn't the hero of her own story… maybe she had been and always would be the villain. Maybe the only reason she'd ever even fathomed that she'd been capable of those altruistic, moral things… was because Brittany believed in that part of her. Maybe without Brittany there to reaffirm her goodness, Santana's selfish and blistering parts had no reason to hide themselves. Maybe she should want more for herself… but without Brittany it was hard. Everything was harder.

Santana's thoughts were dashed as Quinn and her roommates finally emerged from Kurt's room. They were all wearing scarves and their songs had moved onto old Glee club pieces that they'd done together. Quinn playfully reached out a hand to Santana, urging her to join in their ridiculousness.

She couldn't be the villain, Santana finally settled on. She had to have some kindness within her- some redeeming qualities that made her inherently good. She couldn't be all bad. There was proof of her redemption in front of her: those three loveable friends. If she weren't worth it, these people wouldn't care about whether or not she was sad, or joined in with their games of song and dance, or succeeded in life. But they did care. They supported her and confined in her and in term, she loved them back… just as fiercely. They were the proof she needed to take Quinn's hand and stand, accepting the orange scarf from Kurt. She just smiled and joined in when they started on a song they'd done for Nationals—wondering if the others had any idea how grounded and sane they actually kept her.

* * *

They'd all had too much to drink. Around two in the morning, Santana had completely bypassed her "crying drunk" stage and went directly to the "passed out" stage. She was safely tucked away in her bed (courtesy of Quinn and her roommates), clutching a trashcan, entirely dead to the world. The other three sat on the couch, sipping on the rest of the wine.

When they were completely sure that she was asleep, Kurt and Rachel could discuss what happened in Lima that past weekend.

"So… how was graduation?" Quinn had quietly asked, fingering the rim of her wine glass. Kurt sighed and Rachel looked uncomfortable. Something had happened, she instantly knew, possibly something bad.

"A lot of the weekend was really good," Rachel started, trying to sound more optimistic than she really was. "I've been waiting all evening for… _her_… to ask about it but she never did."

"Maybe she can't handle it… maybe she wants to ask but doesn't know how…" Quinn wondered aloud.

"I knew she wanted to go," Kurt commented, staring off into space. "I don't think she felt like she could attend. She was so proud though; you could see it in her face. She should have been there to see Brittany get her diploma… god, she was so excited—she was practically beaming." Rachel nodded somberly along beside him.

"The whole thing seemed so surreal… Brittany came down the stairs off of the stage and Santana wasn't there with open arms. And the weekend just... got more interesting from there," Rachel commented with a furrowed brow. Quinn glanced at the curtain, behind which Santana was thankfully still asleep, and snoring rather loudly.

"What happened?"

* * *

Rachel and Kurt arrived in Lima late afternoon on Friday. One of Rachel's dads picked them up, fawning over them and demanding to know how the semester was going at NYADA. Lacking any air of surreptitiousness, Mr. Berry offhandedly mentioned to Rachel that Finn had been working at Burt's tire shop and had taken over things recently. Rachel and Finn weren't technically together, but this didn't seem to stop them from hooking up every single time that they were in the same place at the same time. Kurt rolled his eyes as Rachel pretended to be uninterested when she'd heard this news, but he watched as she pulled out her phone, probably texting him to say she was in town. He seemed somewhat hypocritical in his judgment; he had the same standing agreement with Blaine.

After spending the evening canoodling with the people they "weren't dating", Rachel arrived at Kurt's house at around ten the next morning. They attended the midday graduation together, excited and proud. They had moments of nostalgia, floating down the hallways of McKinley and remembering "the good old days." Additionally, once the commencement music began, both started tearing up and sniffing into tissues (seemingly before the ceremony had even gotten underway).

Their tears did not deter them from a mission they'd both decided to undertake during their stay in Lima. They'd thought of it the day before on the train. Kurt and Rachel had both seen the wistful look in Santana's eyes as she hugged them goodbye at Grand Central Station. She'd mentioned, only once in March, that she was actively avoiding their hometown until she had earned some sort of place in the world. Reading between the lines, they'd understood that this really meant: she wasn't coming back to Lima until she knew she could win Brittany back. Therefore, they'd settled on documenting every aspect, every possible moment of the graduation weekend so that Santana could live vicariously through the pictures.

Together they filled Kurt's camera with pictures of everyone from Lima. They documented (what felt like) every moment of their trip: the ceremony, the after parties, the joyful smiles and group shots. They took special care to photograph Brittany, to catch her in her cap and gown with her diploma, capturing her celebratory smile and delighted blue eyes. The photos accumulated, dozens of them. Rachel and Kurt knew that at some point when they got back to New York, Santana would look through these pictures, scouring them for ones of Brittany.

However, their project veered off track at Tina's graduation party that night.

It had begun innocently enough: Kurt was snapping pictures of the recent graduates as they uncorked bottles of champagne and toasted themselves. Rachel was talking with Finn and Blaine in the corner.

"You should get a picture of the paper lanterns outside," Tina advised, handing Kurt a plastic champagne flute. "I spent hours setting this party up and I want pictures for posterity." Kurt smiled and took his drink outside with him. Setting the glass down, he raised the camera to catch the way the lanterns swayed gently in the breeze. Instead a head of blonde hair blocked his shot.

"You're taking pictures for Santana, aren't you?"

It was Sam… a very drunken Sam. Kurt smiled somewhat awkwardly.

"I'm just getting some shots to remember this night, that's all," he laughed a bit. Sam's hazy eyes burned into his. Kurt noticed that Sam was clutching a partially drunk bottle of cheap whiskey.

"You can tell that _whore_ that I know she and Brittany hooked in New York last week," Sam sneered. He took a step towards Kurt threateningly. "You tell her that fucking my girlfriend is low… lower than I ever thought that she'd sink. Considering she's scum, I should have assumed that she'd pull this shit."

"What are you talking about? Santana hasn't seen Brittany since February- when Brittany told her that she was with _you_," Kurt defended. He'd seen his roommate, every single day: she followed the same daily schedule of work and scouring the classifieds for opportunities. There was absolutely no way in hell that she'd snuck off to have some torrid affair with Brittany. "_One_: Santana could _never_ have a fling with Brittany. _She's in love with her_ and their relationship being reduced to some… one-night stand as she cheats on you is something Santana would not be ok with. Secondly: _I was with Santana every day last week_—every day. If she could have spent time with Brittany, I would have known." Kurt stated clearly. Sam's accusations were clearly unfounded and insane. Kurt set the camera down on a patio table and crossed his arms, glaring at Sam.

"All I know is that Brittany went to New York last week for an interview. She came back all happy—but couldn't seem to tell me why," Sam growled. He took another sip of the whiskey and winced as it burned its way down into his stomach. "To me—that means she called up Santana and got some."

"Wait—interview? Brittany was in New York last week?"

"She had an interview with Juilliard. She didn't… she didn't see you guys while she was there?" Sam stuttered, confused. Kurt shook his head.

"Sam, this is the first I've heard about it," Kurt assured him. He just really wanted this conversation to be over. Sam's abrasive behavior and obvious disdain for Santana made him angry and uncomfortable.

"She went last Wednesday," Sam slurred. Kurt recalled the past week. Wednesday… Wednesday…

"Wednesday… Santana was home sick. She had a cold. I was home with her all day. Neither one of us had any idea that Brittany was in town," Kurt furrowed his brows. "Wait, why wouldn't Brittany tell us she was in New York?"

"I don't fucking know," Sam cut him off. "All I know is that Britt is perfectly happy with me and doesn't need that dyke coming into the picture to ruin thi—"

Sam coughed as he received a hard shove to the chest. Kurt was done being polite in this conversation, especially when Sam had just called one of his best friends a homophobic slur. He wasn't sure how many people had truly ever stood up for Santana- Kurt vowed that this had to stop now. Sam had made similar comments to Blaine and obviously thought that sort of behavior and horrible slurs were ok. They weren't.

"Don't you _dare_ call her that," Kurt said firmly. "I don't know why I didn't see it before—but you're a fucking homophobic prick, Evans. I can't believe I _ever_ considered you to be an ally to the community. Blaine told me what you said about how Brittany was _norma_l now… and was _never_ gay… and you fixed her." Kurt took a menacing step towards Sam, whose eyes looked angry and drunk. "Don't you talk about my friend like that… and don't diminish what she and Brittany had together—just because you're secretly scared that Brittany doesn't love you that same way that she obviously loves Santana." Sam scoffed at this.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Hummel," he chortled. His laughter wasn't fun; it came out cruel and harsh sounding. "Brittany loves me. I can give her what Santana never could—_a nice hard dick_."

Kurt had never gotten in a fight before… until that moment. He found himself springing forward, throwing all his weight against the other man's chest. Sam barely budged. He easily pushed Kurt aside; the other boy fell to the ground hard. Kurt felt his arm burn; he glanced down at the large torn patch of skin on his forearm as a result of the shove.

"Is that all you got? Fucking weak queer…" Sam snarled. He raised his hand to take a swig of his bottle. Before his lips touched the glass, his face was met with a firm, closed fist. Sam grunted and fell down beside Kurt. He grasped at his nose and the side of his cheek, cursing loudly. Kurt watched in shock as blood seeped through the fingers holding onto Sam's nose. It ran down his arm and gathered on the ground in a small, red puddle. He turned his head to identify his defender. A large, lumbering form was hunched over, clasping his hand. Kurt immediately recognized his stepbrother.

In the midst of the fight, neither one had noticed Finn had approached them, catching the end of their conversation before intervening. He was only planning on halting their words but when Sam had pushed Kurt and yelled that slur at him, Finn's desire to pacify the situation faded.

"Jesus, no one ever tells you how much punching someone hurts!" He shrieked out, clutching his rapidly bruising hand. Kurt steadied himself on his feet and took a look at Finn's hand, making sure that he hadn't broken anything.

Suddenly there was a swarm of activity. As if out of nowhere, Rachel and Blaine both appeared, totally unprepared for the scene at hand. Kurt allowed Blaine to examine his cuts and the other boy ran inside to find something to clean them off with. Kurt tried to slow his rapidly beating heart and watched as Rachel coiled and prepared to strike.

"What the hell just happened?" Rachel snapped, almost in shock. She almost fainted when she saw the state of Finn's hand and the blood running from Sam's nose. "Did you punch Sam?" She looked demandingly at Finn.

He just shrugged, trying to ignore the throb in his hand. "He said some really shitty stuff to Kurt… and then pushed him down when Kurt tried to defend himself and Santana." All eyes seemed to gravitate to Sam.

"What the _fuck_ did you say about my roommates?" Rachel demanded. Her cursing was rather uncharacteristic and stark to everyone's ears. She obviously meant business. "I know you're really a homophobic Neanderthal so I'm assuming it had something to do with that."

"Sam just loves to labor under the delusion that Santana is an evil man-hating lothario and that Brittany has been 'cured' of her bisexuality by his allegedly sizeable dick," Kurt spat. They heard the door to the patio open and shut. Blaine appeared out of the darkness, kindly handing Finn a bag of ice for his sore hand. He tenderly pulled Kurt aside to clean his cuts with a small first aid kit that they'd located.

Kurt continued to speak, even as he winced through the application of some cleaning agent to his lesions. "Sam made some accusations and said some truly offensive things about Santana. I pushed him and he threw me to the ground. That's when Finn showed up to straighten him out. I don't think he'll be calling anyone a _dyke_ or a _fucking weak queer_ anytime soon." Sam groaned, wiping some blood off on his pants.

"Go inside, Sam," Rachel ordered, holding the bag of ice tightly against Finn's hand. "I don't want to hear any excuses… I thought you were a good guy and now I know that I was wrong." Sam stood up and peered around at them wordlessly. He had two black eyes starting to form and his nose was red and somewhat puffy. He sneered at them and strode off towards the house.

It was only when he approached the door that anyone realized that Brittany was outside with them. She must have arrived to the scene late, salient and silent, and observed the scene. Sam opened his mouth like he wanted to say something to her but nothing came out. He just dropped his head and walked inside.

Kurt was not a person who held grudges. He tried not to get mad easily. He bit his tongue when he knew arguments would yield little to no results. However, something within him broke at that instant. He couldn't filter his mouth any longer upon seeing the small, scared looking blonde standing there, backlit with the soft glow of the party inside.

"_How the fuck could you ever pick him over Santana_? How could you _choose _to be with someone who treats your friends like this? How could you be with someone who blatantly disrespects a part of who you are… or thinks your relationship with Santana was some fucking sick joke? _He thinks he cured you, Brittany_. He thought you _need_ curing," Kurt could feel himself getting angrier, but he couldn't stop himself. "He called Santana a _dyke_ and he called me a _queer_. He shoved me to the ground when I tried to defend her—_do you defend her to him_? Do you? You shouldn't have to… you shouldn't have to defend your choices to that fucking prick!" He yelled, approaching her with quick steps. "Do you let him talk to you like that? Don't you want better… don't you think deserve better?" He could feel hot tears seep out of the edges of his eyes as he finally stopped. He could barely catch his breath. Brittany stood there with her arms crossed in front of her, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Can you give us a minute?" She finally spoke, looking up to glance at Blaine, Rachel and Finn. "Please?"

Kurt watched as his boyfriend and friends filtered back into the house. Brittany stood stationary, paused, waiting. Once they were gone, he sat down on the steps to the sliding glass door and sighed. Brittany sat beside him, a foot away, and curled her body into herself. For the first time all evening, Kurt realized how tired and thin she looked.

"I think I figured out there was a problem when we finished having sex for the first time... and the _first thing Sam asked me_ was if I came harder with him or Santana," Brittany said quietly. "I always came really hard with Santana because she is really good at sex, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings so I pretended to go to sleep." Kurt shuddered at this, wanting to keep images of Santana and Brittany having sex far from his mind.

"So… why are you still with him?" He asked softly. She shrugged.

"He's nice most of the time, except when I got a better score on that test than he did. Then he was really mean about it. I was going to break up with him after that," Brittany started. "But when Santana came back in town and told me she was going to stay in Lima, I just couldn't. I needed him to keep myself away from her. Does that make sense?"

"Why… why did you need to keep away from her?" Kurt questioned. Brittany's eyes looked wet for a moment as she stared off into the darkness of Tina's backyard. She nervously smoothed her sundress over her knees.

"_Santana needed to be someone else_, in New York. She didn't need to stay in Lima. So I stayed with Sam. If I was single, she would have stayed," Brittany tried to explain. She swallowed thickly. "I didn't want to turn her away, but I thought I had to. I think she's really happy now… and that's what I wanted. Quinn and I still talk every now and then- I ask about Santana sometimes. I try not to ask too much. I don't want to interfere with her new life. I don't call or text either—because I know we're in different places now."

"She won't come back to Lima until she's…" Kurt started to say, but paused. He knew that if Santana found out then she'd undoubtedly kill him, but he couldn't sit and watch Brittany's sad face without admitting what he knew. It wasn't within him to dash her hopes.

"Until she's what? Found someone better?" Brittany grumbled sadly. Kurt shook his head. Now he had to tell her.

"No… until she's made something of herself. She's become obsessed with the notion that she has to become successful or famous in order to have a chance with you again. She wants to be worthy," Kurt told her quietly. It was out—the truth. There it was, the real reason why Santana wasn't there at that very moment with them. Brittany squinted at him, disbelieving.

"Why does she think that she has to prove something like that to get me back? She should get famous because she's talented and amazing and beautiful. She should do that for her… not for me. I already think she's the best person in the world," Brittany commented, her voice full of wonder and shock. "I already know she's worth it." Kurt smiled at this. It was nice to get Brittany's perspective on things, to reaffirm all the amazing things that Santana felt about this girl.

Brittany grinned back at him, still looking a little wistful. "I was planning on breaking up with Sam after graduation anyway. I don't know what my plans are yet for the future, but I know he's not in them," she told him staunchly.

"Brittany…. I have to ask you something," Kurt suddenly piped up, remembering something. "Before he hit me, Sam accused… he accused you of sleeping with Santana recently… when you were in New York… last week." Brittany's eyes widened at his words. "Why didn't you tell us you were in New York? If not Santana, then at least me or Rachel?" The blonde sighed and stared down at her knees.

"Sam told you why I was there?" Brittany questioned softly. She could see Kurt nod out of her peripheral vision. She took another deep, sad breath at this. "I didn't want him to mention it to anyone… and I didn't want to tell you I was in town because…" Her eyes looked wet again and Kurt watched a tear slide down her cheek. "I was auditioning for Juilliard… but what if I don't get in? There was _so much pressure _on me already. If everyone knew that's why I was in town, or came to support me, and I failed—I would just die. I would be so sad. I tried my best at the audition… but there were hundreds of other people there, all with talent and maybe they were all better than me." Kurt suddenly realized the stress that his friend had been under. If she kept things quiet and didn't get in, she could deal with it more easily than if everyone else knew and she was rejected. It made sense. He felt a surge of pity for her.

She sobbed hard and found her voice again. "I want to go to Juilliard. Ms. Pillsbury and I talked about how much I love dance… but also how I've choreographed everything for the Glee club. I'm not very smart and I know I'm naïve… but I'm good at this, Kurt."

"_Stop that right now_. You're good at a lot of things. And of course you're smart… you're the unicorn, Brit. You're an amazing dancer," he reassured her, squeezing her hand in his. "The audition went well, right? I was terrified when I did my NYADA audition too. I'm sure you'll get in." She shot him a small smile at this.

"I applied to some other programs in Ohio—but I have to go Juilliard. It's where Julia Stiles went in _Save the Last Dance_. It's in New York and that's where…" Brittany blushes. "That's where Santana is."

"Do you still… have feelings for her?" Kurt wondered. Brittany nodded slowly.

"How could I not?" She admitted. "But I can't get her hopes up that… that we'll be together again. What happens if I don't get into Juilliard and she's expecting me to? I won't find out until late-July. I can't… I can't do that to her. I can't do that to myself." Kurt nodded at this.

"I won't say anything to her," he promised. "I might mention it to Rachel, but I'll make her swear on her _Funny Gir_l playbill and her collection of soundtracks featuring Patti Lupone to keep it to herself." Brittany genuinely smiled at that.

"Hey Kurt… how is she?" Brittany asked, eyes meeting his. He didn't need to ask whom she was referring to. It was what she'd wanted to ask since the conversation started, but hadn't worked up the courage to mention until then.

Kurt felt the overwhelming sensation that he was about to start crying again. How could he articulate how lonely and broken Santana was… how hard she'd been working to become something… how she'd spent countless nights crying over Brittany… how could he say any of the things that he felt like divulging? How could he convey the cracked façade she tried to pretend wasn't there? How could he let her know these things without making her feel like things were her fault?

"She's… existing," Kurt settled on. Brittany peered at him hard. Her eyes bore holes into his. Moments passed before she nodded at this finally.

"I don't deserve to know anymore, I guess," she told him in a small voice. "Quinn tells me basically the same thing. She says Santana is fine and she'd tell me if something big happened, or something went wrong. I don't want to be so… cut off from her… but I did what I thought I had to do. I'm trying to get back to her."

"You did what you had to do to get her out of Lima, Brit," Kurt told her firmly. Brittany's eyes looked wet again suddenly. "But now that she's out—you have to get yourself out too." He forced himself to smile at her and finally found himself wrapping her in a hug. When he separated himself from her, he remembered something. Kurt stood up and walked over the patio table. He picked up the camera that had been forgotten in the fray with Sam. "Can I get a picture?"

"She's going to see this, isn't she?" She suddenly asked. Kurt's hands stopped in their journey to lift the camera. He slowly nodded. Brittany sighed and swiped her thumbs beneath her lower eyelids, trying to make sure she didn't have mascara smudges. Kurt stepped to her, smoothing her hair and fixing her dress so it lay against her body, softly showing off her collarbones beneath it. They both seemed to understand the importance of this photograph, knowing that Santana would ache when she looked upon it. Brittany steadied her body and blew a kiss to the camera as Kurt snapped the lens. She smiled sadly when he showed her the resulting picture.

"She'll like that one," Brittany commented, taking a step back from him. She moved to the sliding glass door, but paused before opening it to enter the party again. "Please don't tell her that… we had this conversation, Kurt. Don't mention Juilliard. I don't want to get her hopes up… or make things worse for her."

"I won't say anything," Kurt promised. He gently returned the camera to his pocket, well aware of the gift for Santana that it held.

* * *

Kurt had reenacted the entire conversation for Rachel the next day. He was honestly surprised that he had been able to keep it to himself for that long. They talked about it the entire train ride, going over all the parts of it and trying to decipher how much of it they could mention to anyone else. Obviously they knew they could tell Quinn the entirety of what happened—but how much could they tell Santana? How would they explain the pictures on the camera? How could they subtly tell her that things had the remote possibility of getting better, without explaining why? They both knew how depressed she'd been over her self-imposed inability to attend the ceremony. Finding out that Sam was a homophobic jerk, Brittany was dumping him and possibly attending Juilliard—all those things seemed impossibly hard to articulate to her.

In the end, they decided to give an abridged version of what happened if Santana asked. They were prepared to show her the pictures, but couldn't mention much of anything else. They definitely couldn't work in conversation that Brittany had been in town or wanted to end up in New York because that's where Santana was. They had to play things by ear.

It was easy to understand their confusion when, upon returning home, they didn't find the lost, sad version of their roommate that they'd left behind two days prior. Instead, Santana was excited and practically leaping out of her skin. Why she and Quinn gave the details of their weekend—they understood. Not only did Santana regain some semblance of a love life when she hooked up with some chick (and apparently made out with Quinn, to Kurt and Rachel's mild horror)—but also she'd been offered the opportunity to work for one of the most powerful men in the music production industry. Rachel and Kurt were completely ecstatic and supportive when they'd heard the news; it was nearly impossible to not mention their own good news as well. But they kept silent.

What Santana needed at that moment was more inertia to urge her forward. She needed more force behind her momentum. Rachel and Kurt decided by bringing up Brittany and her possibly admission to Juilliard, Santana might lose track of her own course. What happened if they shared their news and she became obsessed with Brittany coming there and didn't give all of her focus to her new job? What happened if Brittany didn't get in and they were both crushed as a result? What happened if Brittany flaked and never broke up with Sam in the first place? There were too many _what ifs_ and not enough _sure things_ at that moment. They settled that there would be plenty of time to discuss Brittany's apparent upcoming break up with Sam and the prospect of her coming to New York for school. They needed to give it time.

* * *

Quinn agreed with that idea. She was shocked at the story of the past two days. Part of the story seemed fictional because it was so fantastical. Sam drunkenly calling Santana and Kurt gay slurs? Finn stepping up and punching Sam? Brittany vowing to dump the jerk and admitting that she had a shot to get into one of the best Fine Arts schools in the country? It all seemed like something out of a movie.

But it was all real. They spared no detail, including a rather awkward retelling of how Rachel and Finn hooked up because she was so turned on because he'd hit Sam, and how Blaine threw up jungle juice all over Kurt's favorite pair of burgundy loafers. Still, they spoke in quiet tones—as to not wake up Santana, who was still passed out.

No matter what they seemed to discuss, all the conversation seemed to find its way back to Santana and Brittany.

"They don't usually ask you to come to Lincoln Center to dance for them unless they're serious," Rachel reassured Kurt and Quinn, as they finished the rest of the wine. "Brittany is an excellent dancer. She's got a real talent for choreography. I think she stands a really good chance of getting in."

"I hope she does… I really do," Quinn agreed, finishing the last of her glass. "Brittany deserves to have good things happen to her… so does Santana. They make each other so happy. We cuddled in bed Friday night and I could just tell… she needs her. I kept thinking all night: I am the wrong blonde… it's supposed to be Brittany she's here with… Brittany is who she's imagining this whole time."

"Wait, not only did you kiss… but you two cuddled too?" Kurt interjected with a look of awe. "How is it that we missed out on this, Rachel?" The brunette just laughed, a short drunken snort really, and went back to her wine glass.

"I'm going in there to sleep tonight, I guarantee that she'll wrap herself up against me the second I get in there. It's like… its second nature to her to have a small, blonde in her bed. It just makes me think of how they were probably fooling around all those times we had slumber parties in high school, and they insisted on sleeping together on the floor."

"Oh they were definitely hooking up, Quinn," Kurt giggles. The wine had surrounded his brain, leaving everything fuzzy. "Maybe soon we'll have to deal with that, Rachel. We'll have to pretend we don't hear them whispering that they love each other… or that they're so happy they're back together…" Kurt's comments started out as a joke but the more words he said, the less funny it became. Rachel's eyes turned cloudy at them.

"I hope you're right, Kurt, for both of their sakes. I hope we do hear those mumbled words. It would be a lot better than hearing her cry in the dark."

The truth of Rachel's words lingered in the air. Independently of sharing their feelings out loud, all three friends silently agreed with her statement. They all turned their heads, almost simultaneously, to glance at the darkened room that a gap in the curtain revealed. The silence allowed them to hear the warm body breathing just out of sight. Three hearts swelled with love for the sleeping friend, lonely in that dimly lit space. Santana deserved some respite from all her grief. Perhaps she was about to get it.

* * *

When Santana awoke the next morning, she was hung over and cranky again. However, she quickly realized she was sore too. Her aching muscles were probably a result of the fact that three other bodies were occupying her bed, ones she wasn't used to. She didn't know what happened after she'd passed out, or what prompted her roommates and Quinn to squeeze themselves into the bed with her—she only knew she was strangely glad that they were there. She was nestled between Quinn and Kurt, who was snoring lightly over her right shoulder. She was amused to discover the blonde she was spooning… was the big spoon to someone else; she was wholly intertwined with Rachel. Santana found herself sinking back into the warmth, burying her face into the pillow again and drifting off to sleep, satisfied for the first time in a long time.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: YOU LIKED THE CHAPTER? GO REVIEW IT!**


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

**Author's Note: **I got a lot of great feedback after last chapter's posting. I received several _"isn't this a Brittana fic? where are they?"_ comments as well. Yes, this is a Brittany/Santana fic. Yes, they are endgame. I am trying to build up a story here gradually- so interactions between the two will come (sooner rather than later). Hope this helps.

Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

_"What's the difference if I say… I'll go away? When I know I'll come back on my knees someday… For whatever my man is- I am his!"_

A pair of voices sang loudly through the loft the next morning, waking Santana up with a start. She briefly forgot where she was and panicked. Swiveling her head around, she found that she was in her bed, alone. She'd woken up early at one point that morning and found herself surrounded by her roommates and Quinn. However, she must have fallen back asleep and they must have gotten up. Rachel and Kurt were in the kitchen probably, harmonizing a tune from _Funny Girl_, a personal favorite of theirs. Usually, she awoke to the _argument_ over what they were going to sing, as opposed to the song itself. They both must have gotten some from their men in Lima, she mused, to make them so cordial.

She went to sit up and immediately winced with the pounding in her head. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed her eyes, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle of what happened last night. They were celebrating her new job, they dressed in Kurt's gay scarves and danced around… they drank three bottles of wine… then things got fuzzy.

Briefly, Santana worried that she'd had one of her crying spells, like she did so often when she'd reached a certain level of drunkenness. She hoped that she hadn't started mumbling about how sad she was that she missed the graduation or any kind of nonsense. She'd been working to fight those feelings all weekend. She had a lot to look forward to now, she told herself again and again. She had to stop acting like this.

Kurt and Rachel heard Santana shift from her portion of the loft and shot Quinn a look. The blonde sipped her coffee and rolled her eyes. She knew they were petrified that she would mention the sordid details of the weekend that they'd revealed to her last night.

They'd discussed it further that morning when they were sure that the Latina was still asleep. They vowed not to divulge any details until Santana asked or they knew more about the future plans of one blue-eyed blonde. The details, they settled on, would be the bare minimum explanation they could possibly provide without lying. Santana didn't need more things to worry about, not when she had a new job to start in a week.

They all turned to greet Santana as she shuffled into the kitchen, ignoring them all and making a beeline for the coffee.

"Good morning, Santana," Rachel chirped. She was wielding a spatula and standing over their griddle. Several golden brown pancakes were sizzling away, filling the loft with a delicious aroma. Santana just grunted and poured herself some coffee before seating herself next to Quinn at the table.

"How'd you sleep?" Kurt ventured a question, opening the fridge to retrieve the cream for her coffee. She accepted it gratefully and served herself some. She remained utterly silent until she'd taken several large sips, which seemed to help.

"I was cramped. I woke up early and the weirdest thing had happened… you three were in my bed with me. The funny thing is that I don't remember partaking in some sort of perverted sex orgy so I'm not quite sure what prompted all that. I know I don't have the most comfortable bed, considering I've napped in both of yours while you've been at class," she snorted, gesturing at Rachel and Kurt.

"Santana! I wish you wouldn't do that. My sheets are extremely expensive," Kurt complained, looking irritated. His face suddenly appeared shocked. "That's why I had a grey nail polish stain on them last week! You painted your fingernails in my bed? What is _wrong_ with you?"

Santana shook her head, a small smirk appearing on the corners of her mouth. "No, Kurt—how presumptuous of you. God. I did not pain my fingernails in your bed," she defended, looking hurt. "I painted my _toenails_." Kurt groaned and exited the room. They paused and could hear him grumbling and stripping his sheets off his bed.

"Do you want pancakes?" Rachel asked softly once Santana stopped laughing at Kurt's actions. The Latina turned to her with a suspicious look.

"You… never.. cook," she stated. Rachel blushed.

"I _can_ though. Quinn was hungry so I thought I'd make some," she explained, placing several of the hot pancakes onto two plates. She set them down on the table in front of Santana and Quinn.

"So you'll make them for Quinn here, but not for me?" Santana demanded. Rachel was about to defend herself but she saw a grin emerge on the brunette's face as she reached for the syrup. "You'll just have to come in town more often, Q. It's the only way I'll get breakfast made for me around here." She winked at her friend before devouring the food in front of her.

Quinn shot Rachel a surprised look. Santana was in unusually high spirits—a mood that they hadn't seen in ages. They shared a small smile, both happy to see the improvement in their friend's demeanor. Anything was better than depressed, mopey Santana.

Kurt reentered the kitchen and shot Santana a glare. "I'm going to have to do some laundry after class today, courtesy of our dear Ms. Lopez. Rachel and I both have classes on campus around two. I have an exam study group afterwards too. I can't believe the school year is ending and finals are next week," Kurt detailed with a sigh. "You're going to escort Quinn to the train station before then, right?" He was talking to Santana but all she noticed was the large, angry red mark down his left forearm. She hadn't seen it before but now as he was gesturing with his arm- she spotted it.

She rose from her seat, abandoning her pancakes.

"Kurt, what is this? What the fuck happened?" She demanded firmly. She clutched at his arm, keeping it still so she could look over the abrasions. Kurt snatched his arm back, looking at Quinn and Rachel helplessly.

"Um… I fell. I was outside at Tina's graduation party and I just… I was standing one minute and on the ground the next. I had been drinking, so…" Kurt explained. His voice was too rapid and he was speaking too fast, Santana noted. He sounded like he was lying, or leaving something out, of his description of what happened. She furrowed her brow at him.

"Is that really what happened or are you too chickenshit to tell me what really went on? Was it Blaine? Did he hit you or something?" She growled. "If he hurt you, I'll choke him with his fucking bowtie."

Kurt immediately refuted that accusation. "Blaine? What? No. God," he shook his head, in utter disbelief that she'd even think that. "Of course not. I told you, I tripped." Santana glanced over at Rachel. The brunette was much easier to read because she was a terrible liar.

"Rachel? It this true?"

Rachel's eyes dropped from Santana's for a moment before she lifted them again. She took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yes, if that's what Kurt says, that is what's true. I was inside talking with Finn and we heard Kurt outside. When we went out there to check on him, he was on the ground. So if he said he fell… then he fell," Rachel stated. She was able to speak somewhat confidently because that was, in fact, what she had witnessed. She'd been inside the party when Sam and Kurt had gotten into their altercation.

Santana watched Rachel's face for long moments. The brunette seemed honest enough in her retelling of the events, but Santana wasn't so sure. Something didn't sit right with her about it. But, she didn't seem capable of getting any other explanation out of them at the moment.

Begrudgingly, she retook her seat and picked up her fork.

"Fine, Kurt. You fell outside at Tina's party," she repeated back to him. "If I find out that anyone hurt you though, I'm going to go all Lima Heights on them." She said this last line with serious conviction. Kurt and Rachel had no doubt that this was absolutely true. They were suddenly glad they'd kept their mouths shut. Santana didn't need more reasons to hate Sam. Their silence inadvertently helped him, they'd later agree. Both were fairly confident that if Santana ever discovered the truth, he'd have more than just a black eye when she got done with him.

* * *

A couple hours later, Quinn departed from New York on the 1:10 train to New Haven. Santana had remained remarkably dry-eyed during their goodbye, both promising to keep their phone dates and to video chat often. Neither one planned to return to Lima over the next few months. Quinn had enrolled in a summer theater program at Yale and was staying on campus over the vacation—so she'd still be close by. Santana watched as her friend smiled one last time and disappeared into the crowd of commuters.

She stood there, utterly stationary, for some time. It amazed her how alone she felt, even when surrounded by hundreds of people. These men and women, pushing past her like she was a ghost, none of them had any idea who she was. She could be anyone. Her anonymity was both isolating and invigorating.

She could be anyone, she said to herself again. This new job, practically handed to her on a silver platter, afforded her the chance to forge a new path. She could be happy, she told herself. She could make choices that would have better endings. She would try not to be so afraid of everything anymore. She would overcome her fear.

Fear.

It was four small letters but it meant so much more. It was the reason why she had dropped out. It was the reason she didn't want to leave Lima. It was the reason why she couldn't go back.

It was the reason why she and Brittany had less time together than they should have had. If she hadn't been so afraid of what her peers thought, she might not have pushed the blonde away for so long… she might not have only had one measly year as her girlfriend. If she wasn't afraid that she was making Brittany miserable, or that she was a bad girlfriend, or that she might cheat (even though she knew inside that she never, ever would have), she might not have ended things. If she weren't so afraid, she would have jumped at Brittany's offer backstage during the Grease show that they try again. If she wasn't so afraid, she would have come straight out and told Brittany that she wanted her back, instead of pretending to have some fake girlfriend to make her jealous. If she weren't so afraid, her whole life might be different. Her own insecurities and reservations might have prevented her from so many exciting experiences, Santana realized.

She was done with fear. She was done with letting it make decisions for her. She wouldn't do it again, she vowed. She would take this amazing opportunity and work her hardest. She would do it for herself (and maybe a little bit for Brittany). She was done with the past now. She was done hating herself over what she'd done.

Something had changed in her this weekend. Part of it could have been Brittany's success without her. Santana had always treated her like Brittany needed her—and she liked being needed. She sometimes forgot that Brittany was capable of making her own decisions and doing things on her own. She'd proven that by finishing the school year without Santana's tutoring or guidance, by achieving a near-perfect SAT score, and by graduating. She didn't need Santana for any of that—she'd done it without her. Additionally, though Santana didn't know the specifics, she was sure that Brittany was going to go to some amazing college and be successful there. Santana hadn't given her enough credit. She wanted Brittany to succeed—but with her help. Had she ever allowed Brittany to be autonomous in their relationship? Why had she not thought of this until now?

Santana had also realized some aspects of her own power this weekend. She had been so into Brittany and only Brittany for so long that she forgot how desirable she might be to other people. She was single again—really single. It wasn't like high school where she was technically single but really (kinda sorta) dating Brittany. She was completely unattached now. She'd been immediately pursued at the gay bar with Quinn the past weekend. Sure, she knew she was hot (in a self-professed, cocky kind of way), but now it was almost shocking to Santana that other people noticed it too. She had hooked up, quite easily, and though she felt nothing for the girl—it was nice to feel _wanted_ again. The only person who ever made her feel that way was Brittany. Now she'd discovered that other people could make her feel that way too. It made her feel… empowered.

Santana walked through the streets to the subway station feeling lighter. It was a combination of several things, working together, to change her outlook on things. It felt refreshing to look around at the towering buildings and savor how tiny she seemed—as opposed to feeling terrified that she'd get swallowed up. The buildings represented opportunities and possibilities. They were obstacles in her way, objects to climb, new experiences to be had. She only had to answer to herself. _This is what freedom feels like_, Santana mused, _this is what being completely alone- but not lonely._ And she smiled, genuinely smiled, at the sun warming her face and feel of the pavement beneath her feet.

Somewhere in the back of her head, despite all her proclamations and best intentions, she still (just a tiny bit) wondered what Brittany was doing.

* * *

When she arrived home, Santana found a cardboard box and lid in the entryway of the building. She snatched it up and carried it with her inside. Rachel and Kurt weren't home yet and wouldn't be for a couple of hours. Since she'd quit her restaurant job, Santana didn't have anywhere to be or any obligations until they got back from NYADA. Then they'd probably get dinner and watch TV together for the rest of the evening. So the couple of hours she had were hers alone.

Santana dropped the empty box onto her bed and stared around her curtained-off room. She didn't exactly have a lot of stuff in there. She had a desk she and Kurt had found at a second-hand store in SoHo, a small dresser, her bedside table and her bed. A garment rack on wheels was stationed against one side, filled with hanging dresses and her nicer clothes. She marveled at the number of striped dresses in various colors that she possessed. Aside from those large pieces of furniture, the "room" was rather sparse.

The personal touches that Santana had added to the space were small and little in number. She had a framed picture of her parents on her dresser. They'd mailed it to her the second week she was in New York, along with a batch of brownies and a wad of cash. Kurt and Rachel had eaten the brownies; she kept the money. She had a jewelry box next to the frame with some pieces of bling inside, but nothing too ostentatious.

There was a thick stack of books on her desk, pieces of fiction and some memoirs that she'd thought to bring home from college. A lot of them were admittedly lesbian fiction that she'd accrued; she felt it necessary to connect with the roots of the community she was a part of. Once, after arriving in town, Rachel had borrowed her copy of Sarah Waters' _Tipping the Velvet._ Santana found her completely enrapt on the couch with it for the next week. When she'd finished it, she brought it humbly to Santana, reverently handing it back over.

"It was… just lovely," Rachel had admitted, "but I have a few questions." Then she'd launched into a list of inquiries she'd had about lesbian sex, none of which Santana wanted to answer.

Other than the books, her desk housed her laptop. That was about it, Santana mused, well… to the untrained eye. What might not be apparent by looking over the room were the hidden parts to it, the things that Santana had purposefully stowed away and kept only for herself. That's what the cardboard box was for.

She approached the dresser, opening it slowly. She pulled a pair of small pink panties from the top drawer. They were Brittany's. She'd found them in her laundry once, leftover from one of their "sleepovers" no doubt. Santana washed them and then "forgot" to give them back. They were a reminder to her that, at one point in time, she was the _only_ person who got to see the incredibly beautiful parts of Brittany that were hidden by the tiny fabric. She'd taken them with her to Kentucky and often touched the soft cotton, envisioning where they'd been, when she was by herself in her dorm room and feeling particularly lonely. Now, she reluctantly placed them into the box. She also located an old grey tee shirt that once belonged to her ex. She liked to wear it to bed because it made her feel like Brittany was closer, wrapping her in loving and strong arms… but now she put that away too. She didn't want to remove those hidden parts, but something inside her nagged… telling her that she needed to be stronger now. She shouldn't need these things anymore.

Gradually the cardboard box got heavier, more full. Pictures of the two of them that Santana stored beneath her mattress, their old friendship bracelets, a stuffed unicorn, mixed CDs that Brittany made for her, and old handwritten love letters from senior year—it all went in. Santana stared down at the collection she'd assembled. It was all she had left of her past with Brittany. She felt a creeping sensation course through her; one that meant that she was stupid… there was no way she was strong enough to deal with all this. She couldn't possibly have moved on enough in the past couple of months to erase all these years worth of memories. Did she even want to? Did she want to lose these physical representations of Brittany? Without them… she'd have nothing.

She couldn't. No matter what she thought before, she knew that there was no way she could lose any of the contents of this box. But she could do something, she reasoned. She placed the lid over the top, sealing the memories of the past inside of it. She located some packing tape from the kitchen and returned to her room. She paused for a moment, almost wanting to stop herself. But she didn't. She taped the box shut instead.

She carried it to the basement of the building, where they had an assigned, locked storage space. Using their key, she opened the door. Inside, there were other dreams that had been put away. Leaning against corner, Santana could make out a bicycle in the ill-lit space. Kurt once fantasized about riding it all over the city—but when a vicious New York cab had nearly hit him, he'd changed his mind. Rachel had several trunks of sweaters down there, stored away for the winter. The only things in the storage space belonging to her were several pieces of empty luggage, set in a corner. She hadn't really brought anything else with her when she'd arrived. Now she placed the box on the ground. After a moment, she moved it to sit on top of one of Rachel's trunks. If anything leaked in the basement, she didn't want any of her memories ruined. She was just keeping them down here until she could figure out how to compartmentalize how she felt… until she could make sure that she had totally moved on. Then she'd figure something else out.

Santana glanced around quickly, confirming that no one else was down there with her. When she was completely satisfied that she was totally alone, she knelt down in front of the trunk. She leaned forward and kissed the lid of the box softly, running her hands along the corrugated cardboard. She pressed her forehead to it, trying to understand what emotion was coursing through her. She didn't know at that moment… everything seemed so convoluted and muddled. She couldn't wade through it all; it felt too big, even for her.

Quickly, she stood up and wiped her hands on her jeans, trying to ignore the sadness she felt. It was as if she was saying goodbye to something, but she didn't know what that thing was. The things in that box weren't _Brittany_… they were just things… and old memories. But they were all she had, she admitted. She paused for another long moment, her heart battling with her head. Then she turned and exited the storage unit, locking it securely. Locking it away for another time, when she was more prepared to excavate whatever dark emotions resided in the part of her that she'd just left behind.

* * *

Santana was on the couch, reading a book when Rachel and Kurt arrived home. It was so quiet in the loft that they thought that she wasn't home initially. They entered through the door, loudly arguing about whom played Eva Peron better. They were so enrapt in their argument that it took them a minute to notice she was even there.

"_Really_, Kurt? Madonna or Patti Lupone? How is this even a question?" Rachel snapped at him, throwing down her purse onto the kitchen table. "Patti owns that role… she made _Evita_ what it is today: a classic. Madonna, though talented, cannot touch that legacy." Kurt shook his head, setting down his satchel next to the front door.

"She might have initially owned that role—but she didn't make it what it is today. _Evita_ appealed to a niche audience—the Broadway crowd. Madonna elevated it through the movie, and brought that role to the masses…she made it accessible to the people," Kurt argued back. "_Eva Peron is Madonna_—that's her story, Rachel. That's why she is so poignant in the role. _She_ was a nobody from a tiny town who came to the big city, slutted it up to get famous and then used her newfound power to help people. That's why _she_ owns it."

"You're so wrong, Kurt. Patti—" Rachel entered the living room and finally saw Santana. She was curled up against some pillows, holding a book in her hands. The brunette had a smirk on her face, having heard their entire, ridiculous conversation. "Santana! You scared me… I didn't see you there. Care to weigh in on the discussion?" Santana just stared at her for long seconds, enough time to make Rachel feel stupid for asking for her opinion.

Then Santana sighed. "Patti pioneered the role but Madonna will be remembered for it," she stated. Kurt and Rachel both stared dumbly at her. "You're both kind of right. Rachel, there's no point in arguing about this with him. You know Kurt is going to choose Madonna every time—he's gay, remember?" Then she went back to reading. Kurt shot Rachel a winning look and then went to the kitchen to make dinner.

* * *

Later that evening after studying for finals for several hours while Santana watched trashy reality TV, Rachel went outside to the front stoop to talk to someone on the phone. As soon as she left the loft, Santana made eye contact with Kurt, who had put his books down and was filing his nails across the couch from her.

"She's going to go have phone sex with Finn, right?" she asked. It was a question but her inflection made it sound like a statement. Kurt shrugged.

"Who knows," he told her, nonchalantly. When Santana continued to stare at him, he finally sighed and halted the progress of his emery board. "Yes, she's going to talk with him. No, I'm not sure that she's going to have phone sex. But… it wouldn't surprise me." He resumed with his nails then, ignoring the fact that Santana was still watching him.

"How's the arm?" She inquired sensitively. Kurt kept filing, even though he almost faltered at the question.

"It's fine, Santana. The weekend was overall very pleasant," he assured her. She continued to watch him silently. He knew she wanted to ask him about other parts of their trip. He could sense that there were questions on the tip of her tongue that she wouldn't let herself ask. But he couldn't press the issue… he wouldn't. "I saw Blaine and everyone. It was nice." That was all he was going to give her. She sighed, deeply.

"I'll bet everyone was excited to be done with McKinley," she suddenly reflected. Her eyes looked far away. "Everyone is moving on to bigger and better things…" She turned back to the TV.

From just her body language, Kurt could tell how melancholy Santana had just become. She slumped down onto the couch, holding a cushion to her chest like she needed comforting. It probably took a lot of inner-struggle to even say what she had about the situation. She had been so excited about her new job earlier that day… but now the reality of what she'd missed was seeping into her again.

He and Rachel hadn't really discussed the pictures. They had talked about not mentioning the fight and the Juilliard thing… but they pretty much had an unspoken agreement about the camera: they would wait for Santana to express a clear interest before offering to show her. Kurt felt like this was as close as he was going to get.

"Rachel and I took a lot of pictures while we were in town," he tried to sound apathetic about it. "I posted them on Facebook if you wanted to see them. You know, so you can make fun of how lumpy Finn looks or laugh at the fact that Sugar got a custom-made two-tiered pink graduation cap for the ceremony…" He trailed off when he saw that her face didn't brighten at all. He struggled provide her with more information, as vague as it had to be. "We made sure to get photos of _everyone_. Rachel even managed to take some of… a couple people…receiving their diplomas." Santana's face remained stoic. "I can grab your laptop if you wanted to check Facebook."

Santana turned back to him, her eyes not quite meeting his.

"I don't have Facebook anymore."

Kurt scratched his head, exasperated. "You…you don't have it anymore? _Since when_? You were on it like… _seven hours ago_ before I left for class."

Santana shrugged noncommittally. "I quit. I was spending too much time obsessing over people and memories. It anchored me to a person that… I don't know if I am anymore." Her eyes told him a _slightly different _line of reasoning than she had verbalized. She was spending too much time stalking Brittany on Facebook and it was getting harder to watch the other girl's life evolve more and more into one without a place for Santana in it. He could completely relate: in the several months he and Blaine were apart, he scoured his ex's page for signs that he'd moved on. Kurt couldn't force Santana to look at the pictures, he concluded. He would give her space.

"Well… I have the photos on my camera still. Let me know if you want to see them sometime," he offered. He watched as his roommate gave him a short, pensive nod and turned her attention back to the TV.

* * *

Dressed in a rainbow dream coat, Kurt was flawlessly singing and dancing to a choreographed rendition of "Rainbow High" from _Evita_. The number was a duet and he was performing with Madonna—except it wasn't her, it was a large stuffed animal version of Madonna. Despite his cotton-filled partner, they executed the song perfectly.

In the middle of the high note during the chorus, Kurt was awoken by an ominous, looming shadow peering over him in the dark. He tried to shriek but his mouth was silenced with a firm hand—causing him to swallow his scream.

"Jesus, Kurt, stop getting spit all over my hand. It's me," Santana whispered, finally letting go of his lips. "_My palm is all wet. What the hell!_" She wiped her hand on her shorts and straightened the tank top she was wearing.

"Why are you in my room at…" Kurt peered around her body to glance at his clock, "at three in the morning? What is going on?" Santana sat down on his bed and looked sheepishly at him.

"Can I see… the pictures?" she asked softly. His eyes widened. "I've been up all night debating over whether or not to ask—and ultimately I want to see them." Kurt rubbed his eyes and nodded his head. He leaned over his bedside table and clicked on his side lamp. Then he scrambled out of bed under his roommate's nervous gaze. He noted that she looked ragged and was wearing her thick-framed glasses instead of her contacts- but she still looked radiant. He wanted to tell her, but figured she'd tell him to _fuck off_ so he didn't.

Kurt located the camera in his bag and handed it to Santana, noting how her eyes lit up as she flung herself down onto his bed to look through the pictures. Kurt lay down on his stomach next to her and watched as she scanned through the photos, passing by a dozen or so before finding the face she was looking for.

Santana paused on the picture Brittany crossing the stage to receive her diploma in her cap and gown for several long minutes, apparently forgetting that Kurt was with her too. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, so incredibly proud at the accomplishment.

"She looks so… happy… _and so fucking beautiful_," she whispered quietly, more to herself than to Kurt. He stared at her face, studying it. This was the first time that she'd directly mentioned Brittany in the entire span that they'd lived together. He nodded gently. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

"She did… she was really proud," Kurt told her in a low voice. Santana didn't snap at him for talking about _her_. Instead she just sort of half smiled at him gratefully. She turned her eyes back to the illuminated screen before her.

For a moment, she felt guilty again for not having been there—but the feeling passed as she clicked to the next picture and found a shot of Brittany hugging Sam, a diploma clutched in her fist, arms around his neck. Santana withheld the urge to smash the camera. Instead, she sniffed softly to herself. She turned and held the camera out to Kurt. She still wasn't quite comfortable outwardly crying in front of him.

"I think I'll finish looking later," she muttered. Kurt slightly panicked at this. He stopped her as she tried to move from off the bed. He handed the camera back, pressing it softly into her hands and encouraging her to keep going.

"There are some really good pictures in here, Santana," he prodded, scanning away from the picture of Sam and Brittany hugging. He showed her the rest of her friends graduating, going through them quickly. Santana looked uncomfortable, contemplating why he was forcing her to see the photos. She didn't get it… until they reached the one he'd taken of Brittany at Tina's graduation party. "See?"

Normally, Santana would have bitten off his head for being so forward about a topic she adamantly avoided. However, she was clearly taken aback at how breathtakingly lovely Brittany looked. His heart swelled when he saw an expression overtake her face that he hadn't seen in forever: adoration. Even after the rejection and the lonely months passed, Santana still loved her completely. She couldn't help but to be blatantly obvious. He watched as she held the camera in her hand as she might a tiny baby bird—careful and reverent- peering down at the picture.

Santana's eyes ran over the contours of the blonde's body, taking every detail in, no matter how subtle. Brittany was wearing a yellow sundress that had a sky blue bird pattern on it. The matching blue sash around her waist accentuated her toned body, leaving very little of her curves to the imagination. Sadly, the long legs that Santana loved to run her hands along were just out of the picture; the frame cut off just below the knee. One of the blonde's hands was placed carelessly on her hip and the other was raised to her cheek, as if she were feeling shy or pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her blue eyes sparkled jovially as her frame was backlight against the evening dusk by paper lanterns. The small lights illuminated her features, giving her a soft glow. She looked radiant and just as beautiful as she'd ever been.

The picture left a sinking, hollow feeling within Santana's chest. How stupid could she possibly be to willingly end things with this stunningly gorgeous and remarkable woman? The thought plagued her and that hole in her heart seemed to only fill with remorse and shame. She handed the camera back to Kurt, almost in tears.

"Thank you for showing the pictures to me, Kurt," she managed through the thickness in her throat. She moved to get off the bed. "You can delete those now. I don't need to see them again."

"Bullshit," Kurt's voice challenged her through the darkness of the room. Her face was half-hidden with shadows but he could still see the shocked expression on it. He leapt to speak before she could smack the shit out of him. "I saw your face. We never ever talk about her… but we're going to now. You made a choice for the sake of her happiness and broke things off. You're allowed to feel sad because you miss her. You're allowed to be regretful of how things turned out. You're allowed to forgive yourself."

"Don't start, Kurt," Santana's voice snarled, moving into the shadows. She was leaving his curtained room. He panicked, unable to convey what he needed to the first try.

"I talked to her at Tina's," he admitted, somewhat startled that he'd even choose to mention this to her. He squinted in the dim light and saw that she'd paused in the doorway, her back to him, waiting. "She misses you… maybe just as much as you miss her." There was a very heavy silence that blanketed the entire room and the two of them for long seconds. Santana kept her back to Kurt, refusing to allow him to read her expression.

"Did…" Santana whispered, just loudly enough for Kurt to strain to hear it, "did she seem happy?" Kurt's heart melted. After all this time, Santana's first and possibly only question that she allowed herself to ask was about the welfare of the blonde. So few people really understood the volume and depth of her heart, he realized, or fathomed her capacity for real kindness.

"She seemed happy enough. She graduated… and has several college choices to consider," he replied. He didn't exactly mentioned which colleges, just that she had opportunities- so technically he wasn't divulging too much.

"Are… are any the schools she's considering… in New York?" Kurt could only imagine how much courage it took for her to ask that. But he couldn't find it in him to answer her. If he told her yes, she might get her hopes up to only have them cruelly dashed. If he said no, she'd lose all faith in the blonde. He didn't know what to tell her.

"I… don't… know," he forced out. She couldn't see his face with her back to him, so she couldn't read his panicked eyes and know he was lying. She just stood stock still for a few more seconds and then turned to look at him over her shoulder.

Their eyes met briefly, despite the darkness. Kurt wanted to repay Santana's kindness. He longed to pull her to him and embrace her and whisper that everything would be ok. He struggled to keep his body in place as he saw her head drop to her chest and her shoulders heave a sigh. There was a back-story to the photo that he knew he couldn't mention to her, not yet anyway. Too many things were up in the air. As much as he desperately wanted to get her to listen to him, he knew it wouldn't make any difference. Proudly dictating how he'd preserved her honor and stood up to Sam would only anger her and put out a hit on the trout-mouthed ignoramus. Detailing how Finn had stepped to his rescue and punched Sam might only make her snap that she was surprised the fish face was capable of being knocked down by marshmallow gravy arms or something (that one might be slightly funny). Admitting that Brittany had been in town without calling them, or even trying to rationalize what explanations the blonde had given would only serve to further Santana's pain—it would get her hopes up when there was nothing set in stone.

Kurt bit his tongue and filed the hidden truths away, knowing that eventually he'd be able to tell her. One day, they'd look back at all the things he and Rachel had withheld out of love and laugh at how those problems didn't exist anymore. They'd sit with a huge picnic spread in Central Park on nice day and drink wine out of paper cups. They would people-watch and eat finger food off of a checkerboard blanket. They'd stare up at the blue sky, its brilliant hue unmarred by clouds, and each think of how the darkest days they had spent together were long gone. There would be new problems, new drama—but the things that seemed so big to them before would be miniscule and solvable in retrospect. They'd share that future together, he was sure of it.

In that fantasy, where they shared an afternoon of laughter and cheap wine, it wasn't just the three of them. It wasn't even that Blaine was there with them (though sometimes, when Kurt wasn't mad at him, he made a cameo)—it was always Brittany. Every time, Santana's hand was clutched in Brittany's. The blonde was _always_ there with them when Kurt pictured the scenario—even in his daydreams about idyllic, halcyon days- she was there with Santana.

Kurt wondered how much of his brain's interworking that Santana could sense in her long glance at him. He was frozen to the bed, camera in hand as she stood there in the doorway. He couldn't tell her those things, but he wanted to. But before he could even say a word, she turned back around to leave.

"Thanks, Kurt. Goodnight." Then she was gone. He slumped back against his headboard and pillows after a few seconds, when it was apparent that she wasn't coming back. He stared down at Brittany's face on the camera screen again. He wouldn't erase the pictures, he promised himself, and he would save them until Santana would come for them. He knew (well… hoped) it would happen. In three or four months, when everything was settled and she was happy or something, then he'd give them to her. She'd be grateful he'd saved them, he was sure of it.

* * *

With exams approaching, Kurt and Rachel spent the next week at the library. It came as somewhat of a surprise to them that NYADA had finals considering the arts curriculum. Neither one was laughing when they were trying to memorize historical facts about the origins of stage performance or writing essays on the complexities of the human vocal chords and how they impact range and voice.

Santana maintained her ban on Facebook. She spoke to Quinn every night still, but neglected to mention that Kurt had shown her pictures from Lima. She didn't even talk about that with Rachel. Once the morning came after their late night camera perusing, both she and Kurt pretended like it hadn't happened. She became intensely more focused on her fast-approaching first day at Metropolis Records instead, channeling her energy on more productive pursuits.

There were many reasons why they were all busy. They barely saw one another; finding time to sit down and just talk became scarce during those couple of long days. Because Santana wasn't constantly on Brittany's Facebook profile and Kurt or Rachel were too busy to be worrying about social media sites, all three failed to notice when Brittany S. Pierce's relationship status went from _"in a relationship_" to _"single"_ three days after graduation.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, yes... Brittany wasn't in this chapter. Have patience... next chapter just might fulfill those needs.

Now go write a nice review!


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

A/N: thanks again for the amazing reviews. I read and take inspiration from all of them. Enjoy! (Also, this story is un-beta'd, so all the mistakes are mine)

* * *

As she pushed through the rotating door, Santana entered the large open-air ground floor of the high-rise skyscraper that housed Metropolis Records. Immediately, masters of the business world, tastemakers of pop culture, and the leading producers in the industry surrounded her. It gave her a rush to come to work every day. It made her feel like someone important.

Metropolis Records seemed like some place out of a movie. It had an arboretum-like feel to it, probably because the walls were large windows, revealing the towering buildings surrounding it. Everything was ultra-modern and seemed made out of stainless steel or expensive white polyurethane molded plastic. Santana got the impression she was entering some sort of futuristic alternate reality whenever she walked through the door.

Ever since her first day, Santana felt like Metropolis was a definite fit for her. Booth was firm but understanding. He never explained things more than once, but Santana never needed further explanation. He showed her the ropes and then before she knew it, he was giving her more and more responsibility. Instead of floundering and freaking out, she accepted the role and went above and beyond what she was asked. It paid off. She had a small office and a good relationship with the recording studio staff, greasing the wheels if she needed favors or extra studio time. She knew her place, took responsibility for what was asked of her, and always maintained professional composure. It was her dream job and she was damned if she didn't take full advantage of the opportunities presented.

Climbing the corporate ladder wasn't nearly as complicated as people made it out to be, she mused, adjusting her expensive leather attaché case on her shoulder. It almost seemed _easy_ for her to command attention, meet deadlines and get ahead. Then again, she had the fierce work ethic, stoic demeanor and inherent smarts to size up a situation and deal with it. These talents, honed under Sue Sylvester's terrifying gaze, were probably why she was excelling and blossoming under Booth's mentoring gaze.

She'd started at the beginning of June and here it was, late August, and she was working on her first big project. It was almost unheard of to have a junior employee already taking a major role in an upcoming album; Booth had told her this several times. He instilled the fear of failure and the drive for success in her so deeply that she never even presented anything to him that might not be up to his exacting standards. She had a thing for quivering under the eye of Sue Sylvester-esque personalities… and then producing terrific results. Santana's almost preternatural ability to lead and her incomparable taste had assured him that, under his watchful eye, he was right to grant her a large chunk of the workload on the new Ghost Story album. She had to report weekly, prepare examples of the album artwork, and run every major decision by him—but everything else fell to her discretion.

Damien Booth was obviously involved in the new Ghost Story album but delegating the minute, day-to-day tasks to his new production assistant allowed him to work on the dozen other projects he had to deal with. Booth had bigger, more reputable clients to spend his time worrying about. His personal office receptionist, an super bitchy Asian guy named Gregory, told Santana as much as he handed her a stack of important documents with the advice: _don't fuck this up_.

It was a big deal for Booth to trust her judgment enough to allow her this type of responsibility. Santana was confident that this record was going to be her calling card, a stepping-stone with Metropolis Records. It would be the first big thing she'd receive credit for and hopefully, would signify the start of much more to come. Accordingly, she was treating this assignment like it was an extension of herself. She did nothing but eat, sleep, and dream Ghost Story for weeks now.

But here she was: standing in a skyscraper where she worked, heading to a job she loved, with a future that was in a field she loved. Things were looking up, she smiled. It was almost surreal, the notion that she belonged here now. But if she stood here every morning, savoring the experience, she'd never get anything done. The soft buzz of conversation floated past her ears as she made her way to the coffee bar on the right.

As the months passed, Santana had begun to realize how swanky her position was. It was consistently amazing to uncover more and more perks of her job. It had taken her three weeks of working with Booth to realize that the Metropolis headquarters building contained a gym, a free coffee bar and complimentary snack machine in the break room. With a flash of her ID badge, she had access to almost every floor in the whole place and as many lattes as she could drink while she was there. It was a good thing that the coffee was free because she'd probably spend the majority of her paycheck on it otherwise. She relied on the liquid to help her get all of her work done on time. As it turned out, the downside of working for Booth turned out to have been the ridiculous hours. She arrived early each morning and depending on the agenda, could be there until late at night. If Lenny, the lead singer of Ghost Story, didn't like the way a track sounded, she had to stay in the studio with them, working with Travis, her main sound producer to fix the problems. She couldn't announce to him and the band that it was past nine and she had television shows with her roommates to watch. Instead, she had to stay there and make sure that everything got taken care of. It came with the job, the tiny office and the amazing paycheck.

Luckily, until now, there hadn't been too many late nights at the studio. They were still in the early stages of recording the new album and prior to that, she'd been spending her time at the office following Booth around and catering to his every need. Several weeks ago, she had been observing his session with a prominent R&B artist when Booth had gotten angry about the mixing on a particular track, one that was supposed to be the all-important single. Santana had swallowed her fear and piped in, commenting on the drum track in the background. She'd noticed, upon standing there and listening to it, that a syncopated rhythm would work better for the sound they were after. She'd received several stunned stares after she'd shut her mouth, but her suggestion worked. Booth eyed her carefully, amazed at her gutsiness and the fact that she actually spoke up.

"Lopez, you did well," was all he said before he exited the recording booth. Next thing she knew, Santana was getting more responsibility and projects handed directly to her. In her defense, she was shocked that her normal attitude, which usually garnered hate stares and a bad reputation, had worked to her benefit.

Santana was thankful that she started her job when she did. As soon as she got to work, she had to deal with the intense pressure of meeting deadlines and her constantly expanding workload. Without Metropolis Records commanding her attention, she probably would have spent the entirety of her summer imagining scenarios involving her newly single, still unbelievably beautiful ex.

* * *

It took Santana and her roommates about a week into the month of June to find out that Brittany and Sam had broken up. Quinn had called one night and accidently spilled the beans. She had been recalling a particularly hilarious memory involving them filling Mr. Kidney the janitor's cleaning bottles with soda when it slipped out. Quinn had mentioned that Brittany got caught drinking out of the window cleaner (it was Sprite) and then when the conversation trailed off, she'd asked Santana how she felt about the break up. Seeing as though the brunette had no idea that Sam and Brittany had called it quits, she was more than a little shocked at the news.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" She'd demanded. Quinn was at a loss for words. All she could hear over the line was Santana's heavy breathing. The blonde was a little unsure about whether or not the anxiety-ridden gasps were because no one told her the second it had happened or because she was so overwhelmed with joy that her brain had short-circuited. Either way, the person on the other end of the line was waiting for an answer.

"I-I-I thought you knew. It was all over Facebook," Quinn had tried to rationalize. Santana couldn't believe her bad luck. She'd scoured Brittany's profile for months waiting to see her relationship status change and when it did, she had deleted her account days earlier. She couldn't ever own the joy of discovering it for herself.

"I quit, remember?" Santana had stated simply. She heard Quinn groan over the receiver.

"That's right, I forgot," she noted quietly. "But…Rachel or Kurt didn't mention it?" The fact that those two could keep anything away from Santana, let alone news of Brittany becoming single again, was a mystery in and of itself.

"They've been studying for exams all week. I've barely seen them," Santana responded slowly. "If they did know, they didn't tell me." Santana's breath stalled. What if they did know? What else could her roommates be hiding if they were able to keep this huge event to themselves? Santana brushed those thoughts away. Surely if they knew anything at all, they would have told her. She was going to believe that. Kurt and Rachel had done more than enough to earn her trust—they deserved the benefit of the doubt. She was sure that they had no idea.

"Well… you can enjoy telling them yourself since now you know," Quinn pointed out. "You know they're going to freak out about it." And that was the last Quinn said about it. She changed the topic to how she had slept with some guy from her theater workshop and he'd admitted he was a virgin afterwards—much to Quinn's surprise. Santana half-listened; her mind was busy with other things.

After she got off of the phone, Santana was more confused than ever. The question that remained was now that she knew about Sam and Brittany- what should she do with the knowledge she'd received? What was she supposed to do? Even though Brittany was single, that didn't automatically mean that Santana had some sort of claim on her. It shouldn't have meant anything to her at all… but it did.

The more she thought about it, the more it became evident that Santana wasn't exactly sure how she felt about the break-up. She was torn. On one hand, she was ecstatic that Brittany was finally single again. Maybe, if it could at all be possible, they could pick up where they'd left off. However, Santana worried that this was unlikely purely because she had no idea what the blonde's plans were for college or where she'd even be. While part of her relished the news of the breakup, she worried that the blonde was sad or Sam had done something terrible to warrant the sudden end of their relationship.

She'd managed to wait about two hours after Kurt and Rachel came home from NYADA to mention it. They'd been watching _Downton Abbey_ (more specifically, Kurt and Rachel had been watching it, Santana had been half-asleep on the couch) when she'd remembered to tell them. She yawned and looked over at their faces, illuminated in the glow of the television.

"If something happened in Lima, something big… would you tell me about it?" she suddenly asked, eyes locked to read their expressions. Kurt coughed awkwardly and smiled at her. His mouth was grinning but it looked a bit forced, even for him. Rachel looked down at her phone sitting beside on her the couch, like she was contemplating faking a call so she could get out of having this conversation. Santana snatched the phone away and moved it to the table, out of Rachel's reach.

"Big like… what exactly?" The petite brunette asked, subtly elbowing Kurt. He recoiled and rubbed his ribs.

"What would we possibly keep from you?" Kurt added in, trying to avoid another jab. Santana eyed the two suspiciously.

"I don't know… maybe something big that might have happened between a certain… _girl_… and her terrible, fish-lipped, ignorant dick of a boyfriend?" Santana grimaced, briefly picturing that giant mouth swallowing poor, beautiful Brittany. It was troubling to say the least.

Kurt and Rachel exchanged an awkward glance. It was pretty clear that Santana had found something out, but what exactly she knew was a mystery. If she'd learned about Sam's homophobic rant at Tina's party, she probably wouldn't be lazing on the couch and making accusations. Instead, she'd be overturning cars in the street with sheer adrenaline and marching her stiletto heels all the way to Lima to crush Trouty Mouth's skull with a sickening albeit firm crunch.

"What do you think we'd keep from you?" Kurt finally managed to question, genuinely perplexed over what she could have found out. She talked to Quinn daily, he figured, but he had no idea what information the blonde might have that he didn't also know. Santana's brows furrowed.

Rachel sided with Kurt. "Santana, the three of us have cultivated a roommate relationship of trust and honesty. For instance, Kurt was kind enough to admit when he'd used your entire supply hair product a couple of weeks ago, remember? And you both acknowledged your _painfully ignorant joke_ of putting goat's milk in my soymilk carton and watching as I ate cereal with it. That's called trust. So… what is it you think we kept from you exactly?"

"Brittany and Sam broke up… like over a week ago," Santana came right out with it. She couldn't deny the glorious feeling of watching Kurt and Rachel's mouths drop open at this. It reaffirmed her belief that they really did care and were looking out for her best interest.

Rachel spoke first. Her brown eyes were wide and full of awe. "They broke up? Do you know when exactly?"

"…Three days after graduation…" Kurt suddenly answered. He was checking Brittany's profile on his smart phone. When he lifted his head to react to it, he didn't meet Santana's eyes. He looked to Rachel instead. "They broke up… three days after we left Lima." They exchanged fierce, nonverbal stares at one another.

Was it… just even a tiny little bit likely that Brittany had dumped Sam over what he said about Santana, mocking her relationship with the blonde girl and ridiculing her sexuality? Or over what he'd done to Kurt when he'd hurled that slur and roughed him up? Was that night the push she needed to finally break up with him? Could it be true that Brittany, possibly faced with the opportunity of leaving to go to New York for Juilliard, ditched Sam so that she'd be single when she moved here? She'd already acknowledged that being closer to Santana was a huge reason as to why she auditioned in the first place. Therefore, could the stars have aligned so cunningly that Brittany had gotten an early letter of admission into the prestigious program, was heading to their city in the fall and thus broken things off? No… that seemed too good to be true. They'd seen Brittany only a few weeks earlier and she wasn't expecting a letter from the school for several months. The upcoming summer was a huge question mark as to where she could find herself in the fall.

"Are you two eye-fucking or what?" Santana interrupted, immediately causing their eye contact to break. "I take it that you didn't know about this." Kurt and Rachel both shook their heads.

"We had no idea, Santana," Rachel admitted honestly. "How… how do you feel about it?"

Santana fell silent at this question. She shrugged. "I'm not sure. I hope… Brittany… isn't too devastated about it or that shithead didn't do anything fucked up to her. But I can't lie and say that _I'm sorry_ she's single again," Santana paused, suddenly looking sullen, "but it's pointless to get excited about it. We don't even live in the same city and long-distance shit is why we broke up."

"Well who knows what this new change will bring," Kurt pondered aloud. "But if you ever need to talk about it… you know me and Rachel will listen." Santana smiled weakly and nodded.

"Thanks, you two," she told them seriously. Then she snatched the remote from off the coffee table. "I love you guys but I'm turning this shit off. I think _America's Next Top Model_ is on."

When Santana turned back to watch the television, Kurt and Rachel shared another knowing glance. She was making progress. She was opening up, bit-by-bit, to them. It was a little weird to hear Santana talk so openly about things, Kurt and Rachel had to admit. It was nice though. It meant that she trusted them enough to open up completely, even about the one thing she'd been stoically silent over.

* * *

Santana didn't have to ponder Brittany's newly single relationship status long. Soon after the conversation with Rachel and Kurt, she started her Metropolis Records and her life felt like it was starting, really starting. That's when her workload trumped the worries and the fears. That's when she came home so exhausted from work that she fell into dreamless sleep and didn't have time for nightmares. That's when the summer started for NYADA students—three months of freedom. Then, it painfully dawned on her that in the real world where grown-ups had real jobs; outside of school, there was no such thing as a summer vacation. _And_ _that really sucked_.

Learning the ropes from Booth and becoming a part of Metropolis Records sort of made up for the fact that Santana had to work all summer. She loved her job, so getting up early and dressing in nice business casual clothes were annoying but worth it. She even got over her jealousy of Kurt and Rachel in time. She just smiled and ignored their constant comments about sleeping late and eating popsicles on the front stoop while she was at work. She dealt with the commute downtown by picturing a large, corner office and the eventual piles of cash she'd earn. It helped her escape the reality of being crammed into a subway car, body to body with countless sweaty people who all seemed oblivious (perhaps impervious) to deodorant.

Occasionally, Kurt and Rachel waited for her on the stoop in the evening (usually with a wilting ice cream cone they'd bought earlier and kept in the freezer) and welcomed her home. She'd sit with them in her business clothes and talk about her day. They both practically died when she told them (super casually) that she'd met Idina Menzel that day while she was at the studio working on some track. She had to describe every detail about how the Broadway star dressed, spoke, conducted herself, and (oddly enough coming from Rachel) how she smelled. Santana was unable to answer that question unfortunately.

Kurt and Rachel had plenty of time to ponder that celebrity encounter during their break. They were both taking summer acting and movement workshops at NYADA, which occupied several hours a day at most. Other than that, they vowed to spend their vacation honing their craft, as they called it. Thus, they both had been relentless practicing their stage crosses and embellished arm movements lately. They had also taken to working on their character back-stories and accents during all hours. Santana never knew whom she'd be eating dinner with; their characters all had long, convoluted and sordid pasts that were hard to keep track of.

Kurt favored playing a 19th century British gentleman he called Mr. Nathaniel Ericksberg. Santana liked improperly referring to him as Mr. Erectionsburg, often causing the dainty fop to grow agitated and drop character to yell at her. Rachel always seemed to be a widow from World War I, Mrs. Ida Gettis, who was perpetually waiting for her long lost love to return from battle. She'd even gone so far as to write herself love letters and hold them clutched dramatically in her hand for emphasis. Their ridiculous storylines and acting provided a nice break to the hectic nature of her job, Santana soon realized. It was nice coming home and unwinding with those two, even if they were ridiculous. Her latest game involved pressing Kurt and Rachel (while they attempted to stay perfectly in character) about their sex lives and demanding details.

"So, Mr. Erectionsberg, are you a top or a bottom?" she'd pestered one morning when they'd insisted on eating breakfast in character. After Kurt's third comment about the "strange machine" used to brew coffee, Santana couldn't take it. Just watching his face as she asked him was worth the nagging she'd receive for it.

"A top or a bottom? I'm sure I haven't the slightest clue what you are referring to, madam," he'd muttered, angrily buttering his toast.

"You know… do you put your dick into—" Santana hadn't gotten further than that before Kurt slammed down his knife and left the room. Rachel tried to pretend like she didn't find it amusing, but failed miserably. Soon they were both laughing as Kurt huffed loudly from the sofa and pouted.

To further "hone their craft," Kurt and Rachel decided to focus on their playwriting skills. Thus the two wrote and performed one-act scenes together all summer, arguing over rewrites and wording constantly. Santana was the primary audience, though sometimes they'd convince Quinn to watch via Skype. After the performance, they would have a round-table discussion to brainstorm how the short play could have been improved… and always forced Santana to participate. The majority of her suggestions focused on demanding more full-frontal nudity and rage blackouts. She thought that by continually requesting those improvements, eventually Rachel and Kurt would stop asking her to provide constructive criticism. Unfortunately, she realized that they weren't deterred easily when they performed_ Angry Skin_, a one-act play about a nudist who suffered from unspeakable anger management issues. Her plan utterly backfired and she had to sit through a half hour of Kurt topless, flailing his arms and growling with mock wrath.

Thus, summer passed rather quickly in New York. Kurt and Rachel were unbearably loud and demanded attention like children ninety-eight percent of the time—but Santana loved them anyway. She indulged in their ridiculous habits because they accepted hers as well. But that didn't stop her from occasionally becoming frustrated by the cacophony of sound that seemed to follow them around. Sometimes the only peace and quiet Santana got was when she went to the coffee bar at work. She had ulterior motives for going there though.

* * *

Aside from having delicious, free coffee—Santana spent the summer eying the barista who worked there. No matter what time of the day she showed up to get a latte, the girl always seemed to be working. The first time Santana had spoken to her (aside from placing her order), was in late July—despite seeing her almost daily. She'd had to interrupt the girl from the book she was reading. A copy of Vonnegut's _Slaughterhouse-Five _sat on the counter and stared at her while the girl prepared her venti no-whip hazelnut latte.

"You like Vonnegut?" Santana had managed to ask as the girl handed her the steaming cup of coffee. As the girl made eye contact with her for the first time, Santana was stuck by the fact that this girl was… sort of beautiful. She wasn't pretty in the same way that Brittany was—with blonde hair and blue eyes. She was lovely in another way, one less conventional, Santana decided. The girl had strawberry blonde hair in a pixie cut and piercing green eyes. She gave Santana a lopsided smile, deep dimples forming on her cheeks. She was roughly Santana's height and skinny without being too skinny. Santana almost blushed when she got caught checking the other girl out so blatantly.

"You're really going to ask me about my taste in authors at eight thirty in the morning… when I have a line of customers?" The girl stated, looking somewhat incredulous.

Santana wasn't used to having no game and the response she got surprised her. She dropped her gaze away from the playful staring green eyes that were twinkling at her. She coughed and placed a couple dollar bills in the tip jar.

"Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to hold you up," she muttered, shouldering her bag and clenching the coffee in her hand. "Thanks for making this." She turned to walk away when she heard the girl scoff behind her. She swiveled back around and furrowed her brows. The girl just stared at her with that same lopsided smile.

"Really? That's all you got?" She'd teased. Santana must have looked flustered because the girl cocked her head to the side and grinned again. "You've been staring at me every morning for like… two months and the first thing you ask me is about my taste in authors?" Santana stood there, trying to find her words. Her relationship with Brittany had just… progressed out of a friendship. She'd never actually had to pursue someone she didn't already know, she realized.

"I'm…" she wanted to say something about being rusty at flirting, or awkward or something—but no words came to mind. "I'm Santana." She reached out her hand to the girl and shook it softly.

"I'm Audrey. Nice to meet you, Santana," she'd smiled. She reached and took Santana's cup back. Before she could say anything, Audrey wrote Santana's name on the side of the cup and handed it back. "I never had a name to put on there before… and now I do. I have a name to go with that lovely face." She'd smiled warmly at Santana again and then, with a quick twirl, turned to help the next patron who'd just approached the cash register.

Over the next month, Santana had spent lunchtime chatting with the other girl. Audrey would take her break at the same time and the two would sit and talk. Every day she'd make Santana a venti no-whip hazelnut latte and have it ready when she appeared off the elevator around noon. It became routine, and one Santana thoroughly enjoyed.

They talked about nothing in particular. Audrey was a Literature major at NYU and was working fulltime as a barista over the summer. She grew up in Brooklyn and was twenty-one. She had a smile that made Santana feel warm. She could take Santana's sass and throw it right back, which the brunette loved. As it turned out, they had similar tastes in music and movies. Santana had mentioned, after a few weeks, that she was just getting out of a relationship and Audrey had actually been really nice at making her forget how alone she was. She hadn't related all the grisly details of the break up; she'd tried to tone down her description and dialogue about Brittany. She didn't want to seem like she was still totally into her—so she just gave Audrey a basic overview and then avoided the subject at all costs. The more time Santana spent with Audrey, the less lonely inside she felt. Seeing Audrey was an added bonus to coming to work every morning.

Despite spending time with Audrey every day, Santana never asked to see her outside of their lunchtime chats. She didn't know if this was because she wasn't sure that the other girl was attracted to her, or she was still not over Brittany, or what impeded her from asking. Something always seemed to prevent her from coming right out and just offering to take Audrey to dinner or for drinks. Every day she'd announce that she had to return to work and would wave goodbye, usually with some flippant comment like "_see you tomorrow_!" Then she'd spent hours awake at night wondering why she didn't just bite the bullet and ask her to get drinks. Santana would arrive at work, dead set on asking Audrey out, only to have the cycle repeat daily. Since Audrey never seemed to proposition Santana, she just assumed that the other girl wasn't interested romantically.

Today, Santana was going to do it. It was now or never actually. Seeing as it was the end of August, Audrey had made it very clear that Friday was her last day of work. Classes were starting up and she didn't know what her schedule would be once her courses got underway. So when the end of the week approached, Santana knew she had to do something if she wanted to continue to see the other girl. If Audrey turned her down, it was her last day anyway; Santana wouldn't have to see her daily after being rejected. She was confident that Audrey wouldn't do that, not when she'd been subtly talking about wanting to see the new Miranda July movie all week. Santana was smart enough to gather what the other girl had been implying. She spent the entire subway ride that morning pumping herself up to ask Audrey out and now stood, just outside the rotating door. She had to do it now or else she would be late for work—and she couldn't let that happen.

Audrey was finishing up an order when Santana approached the counter confidently. The smaller girl looked up and smiled when she saw the brunette standing there.

"Good morning, stranger," she chirped, leaning against the counter.

"Do you want to go see that movie with me?" Santana suddenly asked nervously. She meant it to sound a lot smoother than that, but it just hadn't happened. Audrey looked stunned for a moment. Santana panicked. "You know because you've been talking about it a lot and I thought you might like to see it with me."

Audrey cocked her head to the side, like she always did, and smiled with her dimples. "I never thought this day would come," she remarked, unable to remove the grin from her face. "I have been waiting months for you to ask me out."

Santana breathed a sigh of relief at this. "You have?" She wanted to make sure; she didn't want to misinterpret anything.

Audrey nodded. She turned away to make Santana's usual drink. When she handed the coffee to Santana, a phone number was scrawled on the side of the cup in permanent marker.

"There's my number," Audrey explained. She leaned against the counter and just stared in awe for a moment. "I didn't think you were going to do it," she admitted honestly. "I really believed that I was going to see you this last day and that was it. I mean—I hoped that wouldn't be the case… but here you are… surprising me."

"Well… it's going to be good day. I can feel it," Santana announced, sipping the latte with a wink. Audrey giggled at her cockiness.

"Why do you say that? What about today is going to make it a good one?" she asked, leaning over the counter and resting her head on her propped up forearm.

Santana just smiled and inhaled deeply. Something just felt different about today. She pondered Audrey's question a moment before answering. "Well… it's a Friday. I don't have to work late because Lenny and the Ghost Story guys have some meeting with their manager tonight in Queens. My boss Booth is out of town in LA checking out a band—so he won't be here to stop me from leaving early or make me stay for some reason. My roommates are both free tonight so we're going to hang out, just us, for the first time all week. And… you just agreed to go out with me," Santana looked down at the number written on the side of the cup. "I'm going to put this number into my phone. Then I'm going to call you this weekend and we're going to make plans for our first date. So yeah… it's going to be a good day."

Santana backed away with sure steps, tapping on the side of the cup. She watched the barista smile and gaze adoringly at her. It struck a chord in her heart. It wasn't the same chord that Brittany struck, but she was definitely affected by the look she was receiving. It was nice to be admired and appreciated.

"I'll call you," she promised Audrey before she winked and turned away. She got into the elevator and the iron vessel seemed almost too small to contain her excitement. Today was going to be a good day. Not even mean, sassy Gregory bitching at her about being fifteen minutes late could change her mind about it.

* * *

Rachel and Kurt arrived home around five in the afternoon. They had spent the day trekking about in order to find school supplies. Classes were starting the following Monday and they needed to be prepared for the new school year. There was something still oddly magical about buying notebooks and pencils, they'd agreed, that didn't dissipate now that they were in college. Aside from conventional supplies, they'd both needed new leotards and dance shoes for the next semester. Standing in Stroud's Dance Shop, it had taken them nearly forty-five minutes to pick out what clothing they'd needed. The search for leotards eventually led them to trying on a number of different outfits. A picture had already surfaced on Twitter of Kurt in pink tutu, much to his chagrin.

Despite the amazing time they'd had shopping, the subway ride home had proved to be the most interesting part of the day out. The Friday afternoon commuters always seemed to be the most _interesting_ breed of mismatched personalities. In just one trip home, they'd seen four people sharing a spoon to eat out of a can of cold beans, an intense catfight between drag queens and a man holding a small lizard in his hands while looking suspicious.

The awesome sights they'd giggled over only served to increase their excitement about the evening at hand. Roommate nights had quickly become their favorite night of the week. They were the nights when New York morphed from a concrete city and became that idealistic haven for the dreamer. Tonight's roommate night would be different than the past ones. Blaine had been accepted at NYADA and was set to arrive in New York the following day. Soon, their roommate events would also include his presence. So tonight marked the end of the summer legacy and the beginning of a new school year. It had been decided that they would always try to uphold the Friday night roommate tradition, no matter what.

They were the best nights, all the roommates agreed.

The festivities started when everyone was home from their respective jobs. They always took place on Fridays purely because everyone was usually off work the next day—and also because hangovers were always abundant come Saturday morning. When it got dark, they stayed up with their cheap, illegally procured wine and all got drunk together. Once they were good and wasted, they always talked about past secrets and dreams for the future. Something about being together and the alcohol seemed to make them all feel a bit existential.

Recently, Kurt had taken to detailing how amazing the following school year would be with Blaine in New York. He would be living in the dorms, Kurt explained, but staying at the loft over the weekends most likely. He went on to describe how incredible it would be to see him daily again and then usually just trailed off, lost in a daze of gooey emotions.

For her part, Rachel wove highly specific tales of how she'd get roles in different NYADA productions and showcases come fall. She would list parts she was willing to accept and those that she would decline, even though her roommates never asked for those details. Santana kind of hated that she knew which characters Rachel approved of playing in no less than four different Andrew Lloyd Weber productions.

Those nights were when Santana felt the most vulnerable. It could have been the wine, or the openness her roommates showed- but the conversations always seemed to leave her with a sense of longing. That's when the missing part of her became the most apparent… and the lack of pressure from Brittany's body next to her hurt the most. She listened to Kurt's excitement regarding Blaine, and something in her crumbled. She wondered where Brittany was going to college… if she was just as lonely… if she missed her at all. Usually at that point, crying drunken Santana would emerge and she would have to be helped to bed. Those were the nights when they were awake in their respective beds, ignoring the whimpers that kept sleep away.

Lately Santana's mentality had changed. She seemed better during roommate wine night and they'd gone almost a month without any late night crying bouts. The difference was noticeable mostly because instead of silently pining away for Brittany, Santana had started talking about this Audrey girl from work. Kurt and Rachel both noticed the excitement in her voice when she would discuss how they talked about liking the same Ray Bradbury novel or how Audrey had the entire Tina Turner discography on her phone.

It made them happy to see her take an interest in someone else, especially when so little was known about Brittany's future plans. The only sure thing that Santana knew, as the end of summer approached, was that her ex was single still. But she didn't know where Brittany was going to college or anything more concrete than that. According to Santana, it seemed unlikely that things would work out to allow her and Brittany to be single again at the same place at the same time. So it was stupid for her to ignore the shameless flirting directed her way from Audrey.

For their part, Kurt and Rachel neglected to tell Santana about Brittany's Juilliard audition though. They kept it from her purely because they hadn't heard anything from the blonde about it, even though they waited by the phone come late-July. However, no matter how long they waited or how many times they'd texted her, they never heard back. Not even once.

Eventually, as mid-August rolled around, sticky and saturating them all with sweat, they just assumed that Brittany must not have gotten into the program. Maybe she had been embarrassed that she'd gotten her own hopes up and so had retreated into herself, refusing to acknowledge the messages they'd sent her.

They kept that tidbit of information about Brittany and Juilliard to themselves, secretly glad that they had never mentioned it to Santana. She was working up the courage to ask out the barista and hearing about how she could have been reunited with Brittany seemed sort of counterproductive. For the past week, she'd been overwrought with worry that come Friday, she would ask this Audrey girl to the movies… and be rejected. Kurt and Rachel were avidly awaiting Santana's return from work so that they could ask how everything went.

"She'd be stupid to say no," Rachel pointed out as she put the supplies and clothing she'd purchased away in her portion of the loft. "Santana is a catch." Kurt appeared in her bedroom.

"Seriously. I am like… 100% gay and everything, but when Santana dresses in her businesswoman get up- with the tight skirts and the button downs…ugh. Even I'd tap that," Kurt admitted. "She looks… bitchy hot like that." He watched Rachel raise an eyebrow at him in confusion. He sighed at her ignorance. "You know… like she's super sexy and would totally mean to you during sex… but it would be hot. Like a dominatrix." He explained finally. To his surprise, Rachel nodded in agreement.

"That actually… makes sense, Kurt," she stated. "I'm just glad that Santana seems really happy. She's coming home early tonight for the first time all week. She's asking that chick out, hopefully with good results. Plus, it's our last 'purely just us without Blaine' roommate night…." Rachel added. She backtracked when Kurt seemed angry with this. "Not that Blaine joining us is a bad thing. I can't believe he'll be here tomorrow."

Kurt shifted on the balls of his feet nervously, exiting Rachel's room and heading to the kitchen as she followed. "I know… it's so weird. I've gotten used to it just being us around here. Now it seems like things are changing. Blaine is moving to New York. Santana could have a new girlfriend soon. You could… I don't know… finally decide what's going on with you and Finn," he mused; ignoring the glare he received for his statement. "I'm just saying that we should enjoy tonight. That's all."

They both went silent for a moment, both considering the changes that they stood on the precipice of. Then they smiled at one another; without words they knew that they would make time for their roommate wine nights. Some things wouldn't change. Then they turned their attention back to the evening at hand. Upon counting the bottles of wine that had been procured for the evening, they determined that they might not have enough.

"We only have four," Rachel noted, staring into the refrigerator. "If the girl says yes, Santana will want to celebrate and drink a bunch. If she says no, then she'll want to drown her sorrow. We don't have enough wine for either of those scenarios."

Kurt agreed with her, scratching the back of his neck pensively. "I'll go to the bodega and get more. I have my fake ID," he reminded Rachel, pulling it from his wallet. Santana had gotten the ID for him and the fake alias on it reflected as much. The name _Gaylord Hugh Johnson_ was printed just above a birth date claiming he was twenty-two and his picture on the right. As embarrassing as the ID was, it worked. Kurt and Rachel figured that they would need another two, perhaps three, bottles of wine. With the discussion over, he exited out the sliding metal front door.

Rachel tidied up the loft while Kurt was out. Santana would be home soon, provided that some hobo begging for change or the trains running late hadn't deterred her. She was busy fluffing the couch pillows when there was a knock on the door. Assuming it was Kurt, his hands full with bags of wine, Rachel scampered over to the entrance of the loft, pulling the heavy slab until it opened.

"Wine time, Kurt!" Rachel exclaimed, poking her head out into the hallway. It wasn't Kurt… not even close. She just stood there in disbelief, unable to formulate words and gawked at the person standing there. Finally, her vocal chords stopped seizing and she was able to swallow the lump in her throat. She choked out the first thing that came to her mind. "Holy… fucking… shit."

* * *

Santana's day only seemed to get better and better once Audrey agreed to go out with her. First, bitchy receptionist Gregory must have gotten some last night, because he was actually super pleasant when she'd arrived at work. Then, Travis, the sound guy, had finished a rough cut of one of the album tracks they'd been laboring over all week and had presented it to her with a goofy grin. Upon listening to it, she was completely blown away. It sounded amazing and exceeded her expectations entirely. She could scarcely believe that she'd been an integral part of creating the music she was enjoying at that very moment. It gave her goose bumps. Then, she'd had lunch with Audrey, who surprised her with Santana's favorite type of cupcake and a kiss on the cheek when she'd departed to go back to work. As if things couldn't go any better, she left early (early being six 'o' clock instead of eight or nine at night) and managed to catch the 6:20 train to Bushwick.

Her phone had chimed when she was sitting on the train (yes, she'd actually gotten a seat today) checking over some emails. It chimed again before she could even check who was texting her. The first was from Audrey.

_Thanks for making my day so wonderful. I can't wait to go out. Sunday if you're free? – A._

Santana's heart pounded in her chest as she read over the words several times. She typed back a quick response. _Looking forward to it. Will call you. _Short and simple, she grinned.

The next text message scared her a bit. It was from Rachel and just read: _come home NOW._

Santana's pulse quickened for a very different reason now. She was worried. Had something happened to Kurt, or someone else she loved? Was something seriously wrong? Santana calmed herself down, focusing on the message again.

She had to remember whom she was dealing with. She'd received a similar text from Rachel a couple months back, prompting her to hurry home from the grocery store. She arrived back at the loft, out of breath and overcome with panic and fear. Rachel was on the couch with her head in her hands when Santana found her, sobbing.

"Shit, Rachel… what happened? Is everything ok?" Santana had begged, dropping to her knees in front of the roommate. She was startled to see Rachel raise her head, her cheeks oddly devoid of tears.

"I'm fine, Santana. I'm just so overwhelmed…" she'd confessed, taking Santa's hands in hers for comfort. "Barbra Streisand is doing a farewell tour and the tickets are really expensive." It had taken every muscle in Santana's lithe body to not go all Snix on the other girl for creating unnecessary worry and drama over problems that were totally fictional.

Thus, Santana tried not to put too much stock into the seemingly panicked text that Rachel had sent her. Instead, she replied to some emails for work and then played Tetris on her phone.

* * *

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary when Santana arrived at their building. Kurt and Rachel weren't outside waiting for her on the steps—but she hadn't really expected them to be. She stopped in the entry and checked the mail, noting that there was nothing in their slot but junk, bills, and a copy of _The New Yorker_ for Kurt. She tucked the pile under her arm and the proceeded to their unit.

For some inexplicable reason, Santana paused outside their loft. It was something she didn't normally do… like ever. But she found herself standing there for at least a minute, just gazing at the closed door. She wasn't sure why she was unable to open it but something crept along the back of her neck and made her shiver. She checked her phone again but had no new messages. She was running out of reasons to stall her entrance into their home. Despite Rachel's unusually vague text, she'd had an incredible day. Audrey was super cute and they were going on a date Sunday. And it was roommate wine night! Tonight was going to be a blast and it was time to get things started and stop being… so weird. With those thoughts in her head, she finally gripped the metal handle and slid open the door.

Santana walked into the loft and didn't notice anything unusual right away. She dropped her attaché case in the entryway and strode in, adjusting her blazer. Then she spotted Kurt by the fridge. He was standing there, uncorking a bottle of wine. His head shot up and he connected with her eyes immediately. There was something in his look that she'd never seen before. It was repressed anxiety and a hint of total panicked insecurity. What the fuck was going on? He opened his mouth to speak but she interrupted him.

"Kurt, where the fuck is Berry? She sent me this creepy fucking cryptic message while I was on the train," Santana announced, striding past her roommate in the search for Rachel. She was halfway to the living room when she saw the back of the brunette's head as the girl was seated on the couch. Santana approached the couch; oblivious to much else while she was in the midst of her rant. "God, Rachel, if you sent me that shit because you missed out on a Bette Midler concert I'm going to be fucking livid. I had an amazing day thus far and I don't want anything…"

Then everything stopped.

Santana's movements stilled as her heart all but collapsed in her chest. Time felt like it slowed, almost crawling to a stop, as she finally noticed the other person sitting in her living room, in her armchair. The energy of the whole room seemed to change as the air was sucked from Santana's lungs. She didn't even realize that she's ceased moving entirely until the mail dropped from where it was clasped in her arm. It fluttered to the floor, piling next to her ankles. She wanted to look down at the papers surrounding her heels; she needed anything to avoid the bashful stare of the blue eyes that she can feel attached to her. A warm heat spread itself through her, filling her veins and burning her cheeks.

She must be dreaming, Santana swore to herself.

Brittany was _there_, perched only a few short feet away. She was so close that with another couple of steps they'd be close enough to touch.

Santana could not wrap her mind around it. She couldn't form any coherent thoughts in that moment aside from one: _she's here_. So she just stood there, eyes locked with Brittany's endless blue ones.

She watched with unfathomable curiosity and disbelief as the blonde's supple mouth opened, revealing perfect white teeth and a soft pink tongue.

"Hi San," Brittany all but whispered. Her voice sounded just as Santana remembered it, silky and playful and full of warmth.

All of a sudden, Santana was fifteen again. She was the same nervous girl who stole glances at Brittany ever since the day they'd met. She was the same nervous girl whose best friend seemed to matter more to her than all the boys who threw themselves in her direction. She was the same nervous girl who constantly wrestled with the fact that while she was kissing those boys, her mind always drifted to what it might be like to kiss Brittany instead. She was the same nervous girl who spent six months working up the courage to peck the blonde's chattering lips in a pool. She was the one who made their kiss seem like "practice for boys" instead of what it was—a grappling with her own sexuality. She was the same nervous girl who pushed Brittany, emotionally but not always physically, away out of fear, self-loathing, and insecurity.

She was that same girl, buried deep within the body of who she was now. Despite the heels or the black skirt that accentuated her curves or the white button down under the blazer or the makeup or whatever else was a part of how she looked on the outside—inside, she was still that teenage girl who fell for her best friend and clamored constantly for an ounce of Brittany's affection.

She only thought she was different.

She only thought she'd evolved into someone else.

She only _just_ realized that she never did.

How much can anyone really change? How new can we make ourselves? How long can we avoid the truth when it scares us?

Santana felt herself unraveling. Inside she was screaming. She was cursing herself for her heart's betrayal. She was fumbling for coherent sentences. She was trying to patch up the crumbling walls she'd built to fortify her heart, to lock it away so that this very moment could never happen. But it did. It was happening to her and in that moment, she understood that she'd been a fool to think that there was _anything_ within her that could withstand the blonde in front of her.

Brittany was the only thing that she didn't have a defense mechanism against. She was the only thing capable of penetrating those barriers that kept her heart safe. She was the only thing that could burrow beneath Santana's hard exterior and force her guard down.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Brittany got to appear out of nowhere and destroy six months of hard emotional labor. It wasn't fair that with two fucking syllables, just a simple _"Hi San"_…. That was enough to ruin Santana.

She short-circuited. She shut down so quickly that it should have scared her. She opened her mouth to speak and nothing came out. She didn't have a contingency plan for this. There was no secret compartment within her where she'd stored a Plan B file, one that might read: _use if you come home to find your breath-taking ex-girlfriend sitting on your couch and it completely crushes your soul_.

So Santana said nothing and walked stiffly to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

She turned on the sink so she couldn't hear any of what might be happening in the living room. Then she sat down on the lip of the bathtub and put her head in her hands.

It was unclear how long she stayed like that. Santana sat there, waiting for a solution to come to her. She rubbed her temples and kept her eyes closed. She intensely focused on her breathing and trying to slow the palpitations of the heart that felt like it was going to pump itself out of her chest. She was still half-convinced that this was a dream. She felt sure that any moment now, she'd wake up in her bed covered in sweat. But she never woke up. This was really happening to her.

Minutes later, she heard the bathroom door creak open and shut softly. She expected to hear Kurt's feminine voice soothing her and trying to get her to calm down. She expected Rachel's shrill cry, comparing what Santana was feeling to some Broadway play before launching into a show tune. She didn't expect smell Brittany's familiar citrus and coconut shampoo—the same one she used to keep in the locker room at McKinley. It was the kind of shampoo that Santana had vivid memories of using as she washed Brittany's hair as they showered together, both pre- and post-sex. Santana briefly recalled running her fingers through the other girl's golden locks just before she'd always settle a hand to the back of Brittany's neck, pulling her face close so she could nip at flushed punk lips and taste the water coursing over soft skin.

It startled Santana how strong her memories were tied to that simple smell. It startled her so badly that she opened her eyes without moving her head, keeping them focused down at the floor to avoid the intense blue stare she could feel burning into her skin, leaving emotional scars.

Santana didn't know what came next. She waited for Brittany to act, keeping her eyes lowered and her head in her hands. The last thing she expected to see were creamy white thighs lowering themselves in front of her crouched form, until Brittany rested on her knees inches away. Santana's gaze dropped to the other girl's hands, which were clenching and unclenching while resting atop exposed thighs, the edges of Brittany's shorts barely covering any of her exposed skin. Without lifting her head, she knew Brittany was trying to determine if it was ok to touch Santana, to reach out and run her palms along the brunette's thighs until sure fingers reached her elbows, then moved up her forearms to her hands.

But the touch never came. Brittany was too unsure to reach out, Santana realized. Too much time had passed, creating a sense of insecurity. From her body language, it was clear that Brittany no longer felt like it was acceptable to be so forward with Santana. She couldn't allow herself to just reach out and touch the other girl.

Both craved that level of familiarity that they'd once had, but it wasn't completely there. The sting of rejection still hurt Santana, as if the barb remained imbedded in her and flushed toxins into her system. Even if she thought she had gotten over things, it was clear now she hadn't. Normally, she would've reached out and grabbed Brittany's hand in hers. She would intertwine their fingers and relish the softness of the other girl's skin. But nothing was normal anymore. Nothing was the way it was before and that was blatantly obvious now, both in Santana's inability to look Brittany in the face, and in turn, Brittany being unsure if she had the right to touch Santana at all.

So they sat there for long minutes, reacquainting themselves with physically being in one another's presence. Brittany waited patiently until Santana was able to drop her hands from her face and slowly lift her chin. Their eyes met and it was as if a crackling lightening bolt crashed through Santana's heart, sizzling with an electric current that made her whole body buzz and hum.

Brittany swallowed audibly as they realized how close they were to one another. She leaned back a few inches and Santana watched as the blonde's eyes trailed over her body, perhaps to checking to see how much had changed about her. Brittany's eyes on her made her cheeks burn with heat and everywhere the blonde looked left a trail of fire, searing across her skin. How did Brittany still have this affect on her?

While she was being examined quietly, Santana did the same. Looking over the other girl, she noticed for the first time that Brittany was wearing a Juilliard tee shirt.

"You look so… grown up, San," Brittany finally whispered to her. "You look so beautiful." A slender wrist extended forward and fingers gently touched the lapel of Santana's blazer and the brunette gulped.

She was so stupid. How could she ever think that it wouldn't be ok for Brittany to touch her? How could she assume that her body wouldn't react to the blonde the way it always did, with a tingling warmth that made her clench her thighs together. Now that Brittany was here, doing something as simple as stroking the lapel of her jacket, Santana had the overwhelming desire to pin the blonde to the bathroom floor and spend the next two days slowly making up for lost time by reacquainting herself with every part of her body.

But she couldn't do that. She couldn't just leap back into things—not when losing Brittany last time nearly destroyed her. She had to take things slow and keep her sanity about her.

To distract herself from her carnal desires, she smiled softly at Brittany. "Thanks. I feel… older now. I have a real job and responsibilities and… such."

"You seem like another person," Brittany murmured aloud. "You're a real live adult now."

"Is that a bad thing?" Santana questioned. Brittany didn't meet her eyes.

"No. It's just different. It makes me feel… immature," the blonde admitted.

"You're not immature, Brit," Santana quickly defended, just like she always did. She winced at using a nickname, loosing the pretense of formality immediately. "A lot of things have changed. I am not the same person I was six months ago… the last time I saw you."

"Did you ever think there would be a time where we would go six months without talking to one another, San?" Brittany wondered aloud. The question made Santana cringe.

"I-I-I…" Santana tried to answer but couldn't. She wanted to tell the blonde that she never imagined having to spend that much time apart because she'd always assumed that they'd be together forever—but now that response didn't seem appropriate. Now she felt dizzy again, thinking of a way to reply. Instead, she settled on changing the subject. "Why are you wearing a Juilliard shirt?"

Brittany fingered the hem of the blue shirt. It brought out the color of her eyes, Santana noticed begrudgingly.

"I go there, San, like… for college. I got a full scholarship to their dance program," Brittany explained with a proud grin. "I start on Monday."

Santana's head was swimming. Was Brittany better off without her? It could be said that her ex was doing far better post-break up than she ever did with Santana there by her side. Santana had been so caught up in fame and whatever else that she didn't realize Brittany had fallen too far behind to graduate until it was too late. In her absence, Brittany graduated and got a full ride to one of the best dance programs in the country. It was just another example of Santana not giving Brittany enough credit, she realized.

"Congratulations, Brit," Santana smiled. She meant it…she really did. She was so happy that Brittany was doing well, even if it meant that the blonde was better off without her. "I'm really proud of you. If anyone deserves happiness… it's you."

For the first time in six months, Santana dropped her defenses totally and reached forward, wrapping the blonde in a tight embrace. She buried her face into Brittany's neck and inhaled deeply, feeling her heart pound in her ears. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so… whole.

When she released Brittany, they had a moment where their faces remained close to one another, mouths inches apart. Months ago, Santana wouldn't have given a second thought to leaning in with her head tilted slightly and connecting their lips. But now, she just froze, feeling Brittany's warm breath ghost over her own mouth. She knew that it was a habit to expect that they'd kiss after hugging tightly for an extended period of time. Santana no longer knew where the line was or if she was crossing it by contemplating kissing the other girl.

Everything had changed and she didn't know where she stood with Brittany at all. It was so confusing to remember what _was_ and _was not_ appropriate to do with her. Santana had no idea how exes were supposed to act towards one another because she had never remained close to anyone like she had been with Brittany. Guys like Puck or even Trouty (during that disgusting month or so when they'd "dated") didn't even register as exes to Santana because she'd never been emotionally attached to them. She had never loved them… she had never loved _anyone_ the way she'd loved Brittany—and continues to love her. And now…to detach herself from the natural intimacy she felt with the other girl… it was really fucking hard. It made her second guess where her hands were or how close their mouths still remained. Santana wondered briefly if Brittany was battling with the same feelings considering she was nervously looking between Santana's eyes and her moist, slightly parted lips.

_God, no one ever warned her that she'd have to navigate situations like this._

She can't decide what to do so she did the most logical thing. She pulled back all the way and broke the emotional force field they seemed to be stuck in. Brittany's eyes flickered to an unreadable expression.

"We should probably leave the bathroom. I've got a bottle of wine in that fridge with my name on it. It's… it's been a long week," Santana murmured, almost apologetically as she forced herself up from where she'd been sitting on the edge of the tub. She smoothed her skirt out with her palms and then reached down, automatically ready to help Brittany up as well. When the blonde's hand touched her own, that same electric current ran through her, reminding her that this girl still has a palpable effect on her. It also served to prove that Santana may no longer have the right to express the way Brittany makes her feel anymore.

Brittany wasn't her girlfriend anymore, as much as she wished that it wasn't true.

* * *

The wine night turned into roommates plus one. Brittany sat in the armchair, sipping her wine and Sprite (she'd said that the taste of the white wine by itself was nasty and had doctored it up) while Santana, Kurt and Rachel occupied the couch. It was a bit awkward at first to try to facilitate conversation between all of them while avoiding the obvious booby traps of relationships or dating or the like. However, once they'd all started on their second drink, dialogue became easier.

Two bottles in and Brittany was telling anecdotes about the end of the year at McKinley, conveniently leaving out any parts that involved Sam. She told an unbelievable story about how one of the new kids became obsessed with an online dating relationship because he was under the impression he was chatting with a seventeen-year-old girl… only to discover it was an old man in Cincinnati. Brittany also mentioned how she saw Blaine before she left for New York and he was filling an oversized duffel bag with dozens of pairs of spanx. This gave Santana fodder for at least four good jokes, one likening Blaine's hair to a frosting of sorts on his hidden "muffin top." Kurt was not amused.

Three bottles in and Rachel was telling Brittany all about how Santana showed up at their doorstep and announced she was moving in. Then she went on to reveal that before Santana had a bed in the loft, she'd used her powers of intimidation to get Kurt and Rachel to share one of the beds so she could have the other all to herself. Santana rolled her eyes at their anecdotes, knowing that they were doing it out of love and the joy of embarrassing her. Brittany just giggled and sipped her wine, making bashful eye contact with Santana has she sat pinned between drunken Rachel and drunken Kurt.

Four bottle in and they all performed the song _Paradise by the Dashboard Light_, just like they had in Glee club for Nationals. Except this time they were all drunk. And Finn wasn't there to spill gravy sweat all over the stage.

Five bottles in and Rachel turned to Santana and demanded to know if she'd asked Audrey out yet. The blood drained from her face and her stomach dropped. Stupid, idiot drunken Rachel, she thought angrily. Whatever, she eventually decided; Brittany was with Sam for months and months. Was she not supposed to have moved on? Was she supposed to just wait for the blonde to come back? She was allowed to date and be with other people, she reminded herself. So what if Brittany heard about it.

"I did," she admitted, taking a sip of wine to avoid looking at Brittany's face. When she did, she saw it absent of emotion. The girl was just politely listening apparently. Santana felt a little betrayed—did she want a reaction from Brittany? Did she want the other girl to be envious or something? Why did it rile her up so much that she looked unfazed? "We are supposed to go out Sunday."

In other circumstances, perhaps more sober ones, Rachel would have tried to tread lightly on the topic at hand. Drunken Rachel didn't remember to do that. Drunken Rachel seemed to forget that Santana had been pining away for Brittany for months and made it as obvious as she could (without directly saying it) that she missed the blonde and regretted their break up.

"Oh sorry, Brit," Rachel slurred as elegantly as possible, "Audrey is this cute lesbian barista at the coffee bar in Santana's work. _In her work!_ Can you believe that? And Santana has been wanting to ask her out for like… months and she like… finally did now." Rachel turned to Santana and squeezed one of her cheeks as the Latina gawked at her, utterly mortified that Rachel had announced any of that.

Kurt found it acceptable to step in at this point, regardless of how drunk he actually was. "Rachel, shut up," he instructed, trying to sound sober. "We both know that Santana has been pining away for this chick for like… months but only because _she got rejected_ and was trying to move on. Duh." He finished his wine, oblivious to the look of utter mortification on Santana's face. They both really needed to stop talking. She was drunk but even she knew that they needed to stop… like now.

"Santana got rejected?" Brittany suddenly asked, "here in New York?" She didn't quite know what they were talking about but Santana realized she needed to change the subject.

"Who needs more wine?" She tried to interject, but Rachel started talking again, loudly, and over Santana's voice.

"In New York? No… god no… not here," Rachel scoffed. "She got rejected in Lima… by you? Remember?"

Brittany's face dropped, her smile disappearing, when she realized what Rachel was talking about. Santana wanted to curl up and die. Drinking with these two blabbermouths was proving to be a completely terrible idea. She tried to make a mental note, in the haze of her alcohol-soaked mind, to rip them both new ones in the harsh light of morning.

"Fuck. Rachel, Kurt… stop talking," she warned. She stood up, taking a moment to catch her balance, before heading off to the kitchen to get more wine. She could hear Rachel and Kurt bickering in the living room.

"You spilled the… beans or something, Rach. 'Tana is mad at you because you weren't like… supposed to mention that she is still like… into Brittany," Kurt tried to whisper. Rachel loudly scoffed as Santana hurried with the wine so she could get back to the living room to stop them. Her fingers were sluggish and opening the bottle was harder than she anticipated.

"It's not my fault that she's really the dramatic one, you know what I mean? She's the one who won't talk about _stuff_ or acknowledge _stuff_ or _even any of that_. She's a bottler… she bottles that up and then it pops like a cork and you have to get out of the way or else you get hit… you know, by the cork," Rachel explained, trying to be philosophical in her drunken rants. "She cried all the time at night over you, just so you know." Rachel winked at Brittany before calling out for more wine. Santana stormed into the living room, practically foaming at the mouth.

"Shut up and listen to Snix now," she ordered. Kurt and Rachel fell silent, knowing not to egg on her rage by that point. "Stop talking about my business to my ex-girlfriend over there, ok? I don't think Brittany wants to hear all this shit and I don't either. She doesn't need to be told how much of a fucking mess I am because she's known that I'm a mess for years now," Santana seethed, still carrying on. "And if you keep bringing up all my business, I'll tell Blaine how you messed around with that guy in your stage fighting class, Kurt. And Rachel, I'll tell Quinn that you have a picture of her in a bikini from sophomore year stuffed into your pillowcase… whatever that means. Am I clear?" Her roommates practically whimpered and nodded. Brittany sat in silence and just watched Santana with a gaping mouth. "Good. Now I'm going to drink this wine. Rachel and Kurt, why don't you show Brittany one of your one-act plays that you have forced me to sit through? How about that one about the street urchin who finds the hundred-dollar bill? I like that one."

Santana waited until Kurt and Rachel got off the couch to go prepare for their play and then sat down on the cushion closest to Brittany. She poured the blonde another glass of wine and then cleared her throat uneasily.

"Sorry about… them. They get chatty when they're drunk and you don't need to hear about all my bullshit. Don't… don't concern yourself with it, ok? It was just… shit I had to deal with," Santana tried to explain. The more she tried to talk about it, the more confusing it all seemed in her mind. So she gave up and turned to her roommates who were arguing over the blocking. She should hate them. She should want to strangle them for revealing so much to Brittany. Somehow, she couldn't. She knew that they didn't mean to divulge a hint of how miserable Santana has been.

Thankfully (for them), right then she was too drunk to care much. She had her roommates and Brittany there with her. It slowly crept into her mind that this is what she wanted all along… this was what was always missing before. She prayed for this very scenario: all the people she loves together, laughing and enjoying life. The missing piece of the puzzle was back and she was sitting right there, sipping the wine and trying to watch Santana without being too obvious. For the first time in months, Santana's smile didn't hide a trace of sadness behind it… it belayed true joy.

* * *

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	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for the feedback. I do take your thoughts into consideration. I got a lot of interesting comments regarding the _should Santana date Audrey or not now that Brittany is in NY _situation. I have an idea of where that storyline is headed, but it is nice to see readers invested in the fic so much that they have to chime in and give their opinion. I hope this chapter sheds some light on the Brittany aspects of the story thus far, her motivation behind things has been a little absent thus far due to the build up of getting her to New York. This chapter might help with those questions.

* * *

The past couple of summers had been rough for Brittany S. Pierce.

The previous one Santana had to leave Lima early to go to a cheerleading prep boot camp in Louisville. Brittany had spent the majority of that summer waiting to Skype in the evenings with the girlfriend she'd missed terribly. She had a part-time job at a pet-grooming store. But washing dogs and painting their nails neon colors (sometimes even when the owners didn't ask for it) didn't occupy as much of her time as she'd hoped.

Sure, she hung out with the Glee club kids during those months. She went shopping at the mall with Sugar. They'd try on dozens of different outfits and giggle at themselves in the mirror for hours. Other days, she got coffee with Tina and Blaine. They'd discuss their upcoming senior year (her second time around senior year of course) and make plans for numbers they wanted to sing in Glee club. No matter who else she spent time with, Brittany kept lithe and fit by frequenting the dance studio where she'd been attending classes since she was three. She pushed herself harder than she ever had in the past, trying to wear herself down. If she got home exhausted, maybe she wouldn't notice that she was alone or that Santana wasn't going to climb in through her window to cuddle at night.

However, none of her pursuits ever allowed her to forget, even for one minute, that she missed Santana. The brunette held such a vast and dominant part of her heart that it was sometimes hard to remember what being alone felt like. For so long, Santana had been there all the time. Even before they were dating officially, they would spend summers at the pool or reading trashy magazines in the air conditioning or walk to the ice cream shop where Santana would always buy her a cone. It was more than a little disheartening to have her girlfriend by her side constantly and then… just disappear. They exchanged texts during the day, sent dirty nude pictures back and forth, and tried to make time to talk on the phone daily. However, sometimes Santana was just too busy. That's when the realization that the brunette was hundreds of miles away really crushed Brittany. She found that when she couldn't hear her girlfriend's voice or see her face via Skype, she felt like she physically ached. Her loneliness was so palpable that it kept her up at night. She'd lie awake in the dark and just hope that things would get easier.

The summer before college went much the same way. She broke up with Sam promptly after graduation, leaving her single and alone in Lima again. She called him up to "talk" and found herself struggling to find the words that would hurt him the least. Eventually, she'd had to just come out and say it.

"This isn't working, Sam," she'd started. "You're a really nice guy and I know you care about me… but I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry."

He looked like he'd expected as much as she spoke. "Is this because of what happened with Kurt?" Sam had demanded as they sat outside Brittany's house on the front steps. She rested her chin on her folded knees, tucking her arms around her calves and sighed.

"Yes and no. Yes, that was mean and bullying and I can't accept that you did that to my friend. No, because there are other reasons. You're staying in Ohio, Sam. I don't know where I am going to be next year," Brittany had tried to explain. Sam shook his head, looking sad. She hated being the bad guy, she thought.

"I take it that you're banking on going to Juilliard," Sam asked softly. She swallowed hard.

"I mean, I _want_ to go there. I think it would be good for me," she explained. "I don't know if I got in… and I won't know for a while. I'm trying not to get my hopes up." She fumbled with the hem of her shorts and tried to maintain her composure.

Sam scoffed loudly. "You _want_ to go to New York, Juilliard or not… just admit it, Brit. You know that you can't do a long-distance relationship and you're ending it now so you can get ready to move," he half-heartedly accused.

Brittany was quite for a long time. The evening cicadas made more noise than they did as they sat there, trying to maintain their poker faces.

"We both knew this was coming, Sam," she'd finally stated, quietly. "I haven't been happy for a while. This just isn't what I want right now."

Sam's head turned and he gazed at her in disbelief. "No… I didn't know this was coming, Brit. I actually thought we were good together but apparently I was the only one to think that," he muttered. "And you don't have to make up excuses. I'm not _that_ stupid- I know what's going on. This is because of Santana. It's always because of Santana," he grunted, kicking at the grass next to his foot. Brittany exhaled a long breath, trying to formulate a rebuttal.

"Sam… you were a great _high school boyfriend_. But we're not in high school anymore. We're both moving on and this just isn't working anymore. I'm sorry," Brittany apologized again, without making eye contact.

Sam's glare burned into her. "_You didn't answer me_. This is because of Santana, isn't it?" He pushed, demanding that she reply. He needed to hear the truth straight from her mouth.

Finally she turned to him, taking a deep breath to prepare her lungs. "I care about you, Sam, but I don't… _love_ you. I can't give you my heart because it belongs to Santana, broken up or not. Junior year, I made the… mistake… of choosing Artie over her. Then I chose to reject her again… to stay with _you_—but _not_ because I loved you more than her. I-I-I let you believe that because… it was _easier_ than admitting that I'd done it so she'd go to New York," Brittany finally disclosed. "If she thought that we would get back together, she would have stayed. I couldn't let her do that. I'm sorry that I lied to you and hurt you in the process. I really am."

Sam just looked devastated.

Brittany went on. "I can't keep telling myself that I have to make _other people_ happy instead of making_ myself _happy. I have to do what makes _me_ happy, ok? Can you understand that?" She begged, tearing up a bit. She sniffed hard, trying to get Sam to comprehend what she was telling him. "You were nice to me and… you were there for me when I felt like I had no one. I will _always_ be grateful that you were kind to me… and loved me the way you did. But I can't stay in this relationship when it feels like a lie."

Sam just stared at her in a daze, barely able to respond. "It was a lie because… you never loved me. I was just tiding you over until you could get Santana back," he mumbled. He sounded small and broken.

"I can't help how I feel or who I love, Sam," she told him firmly. "I love Santana like I want to be with her forever and… I never felt that way abut you. I loved you like a friend, but not like a soul mate… not like with her," Brittany almost whispered. "But there is more to this than that. I think that… you have some things you need to think about too, Sam." Brittany paused and waited for him to respond, but he just looked away.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, awkwardly rubbing his arm. Brittany sat quietly until he made eye contact again.

"You and Blaine became really close this year and that was great. You were so tolerant and accepting of him; you two basically became brothers. Yet, you lashed out at Kurt for defending Santana and you called them both bad words. Why?"

Several different emotions screamed across Sam's face as Brittany finished speaking. He looked bewildered first, then sort of confused again, and then angry and then… finally, he looked defeated.

"I…I..." Sam stammered, his posture going rigid before he finally slumped over. "_I don't know_. I don't hate gay people or think that there's something wrong with them. I never thought I had it within me to be… homophobic. That's not me," he implored. "…Maybe I said those things about Santana and Kurt because… I was a little bit defensive that I liked Blaine's affectionate attention so much. I… I lashed out because I was afraid of the way I was feeling." Sam's eyes looked sad and wet. "I wasn't tolerant or… understanding at all. I shouldn't have pushed Kurt and I never should have said those things about Santana."

Brittany gently rubbed his shoulder to provide comfort. "It's ok to be confused about how you feel, Sam," she reminded him. "You don't have to put labels on things or decide who you are right now. You can take your whole life to figure it out." She smiled at him and pulled him to her, hugging him for a few seconds. Then she leaned back and searched his eyes. "Are we going to be ok? We won't be together but… we can still hang out if you want sometime."

Sam nodded his head and shot her a small grin. "I'd like that."

* * *

And just like that—she was single again. Brittany felt lighter, like she'd lost some emotional baggage she'd been hauling around. In a sense, she had. She hadn't been honest about her motivations for staying with Sam, even to herself. She wished she hadn't strung him along and given him false hope for a future together. It made her feel guilty and ashamed… and she hated feeling that way. She hurt him, even if he didn't admit it. She hadn't even been able to admit that she didn't love him until Santana had returned after she dropped out.

It was easy to think that things with Sam were fine when the brunette was absent. However, once she popped back up again, it became near impossible to compare how Brittany felt for the two very different people. Sam didn't stand a chance and that's what scared her so badly. She wanted Santana there with her so much that it hurt… but she couldn't allow herself to give in. She had to help Santana achieve her goals, because that's what a partnership was all about. Even if they weren't girlfriends, she was still Brittany's best friend. Brittany still wanted the best for her, even if it meant pushing Santana away.

That's when she realized that she _loved_ Santana. It wasn't like she didn't think that she truly loved the girl before then- that wasn't it. When she pushed Santana away for her own good, Brittany realized that she loved her with a sense of finality. She loved her in the sense that her heart was completely filled and almost bursting. Santana provided her with everything she'd ever wanted, or thought she could would, or would ever want. She loved Santana, but it was so much deeper and vaster than high school puppy love. It was the type of love that would turn her months with Sam into a forgettable interruption between periods of being with Santana. It was the type of love that lead to marriage and children and happily ever after. It was love for the long haul, the type that didn't diminish because they were far away from each other. Distances made them just miss one another even more because somewhere inside, they knew they shouldn't be apart.

Santana was the other half of her and had always been, ever since Brittany could remember. She just had never put the pieces of the puzzle together before then. The parts were all jumbled and it felt like it took time to acquire more of them. But the picture was becoming clearer. It was a snapshot of a future together. It made Brittany feel more dumb than any bully's taunts that might have plagued her for her entire life. She felt stupid for not figuring it out sooner. She knew she wanted the best for Santana… but she never realized it was because she loved the brunette more than she could ever fathom or hope to articulate. She had always loved Santana but never knew how _much_ she loved her until then.

Brittany felt trapped all summer, like she was being suffocated. The terror of the unknown crept into her every waking thought. What happened if she didn't get into Juilliard? Would she still go to New York? What would be her excuse to be there, besides Santana? She was treading water and growing more exhausted by the second.

When the letter came in the mail, she sat at her desk holding it for almost thirty minutes before opening it. The words written on the paper inside would change her whole life forever. She teetered on the precipice of _knowing_ and _not knowing _for as long as she could before she tore open the top of the envelope and ripped the contents out.

When her eyes found the word _congratulations_ in the midst of the rest of what was written there, Brittany thought she would die of happiness. This was fate shoving her down the right path, obliterating any and all doubts she might have about the direction of her life. This was her chance to right all the wrongs she'd committed, to seek out Santana and prove that she was done with Sam or any of those other guys. She just wanted _her_.

* * *

Sitting there watching Kurt and Rachel perform some ridiculous one-act play based on an altercation they'd had with a homeless man on the subway, Brittany didn't feel like the new, doe-eyed girl in New York. She had an eerie, unshakable feeling that she was supposed to be there in that moment. She fit into this scene effortlessly—like someone had saved a place for her… even when she wasn't there. She turned her head to gaze at the gorgeous brunette sitting beside her, sipping some wine. It was Santana, Brittany knew; maybe she'd always hoped that the blonde would come join her here eventually. It just took Brittany a little longer to find her way there.

Santana, despite looking serene as late in the play drunken Kurt pantomimed peeing in a cup and trying to throw it on drunken Rachel (yes, it had really happened earlier that week), was a tornado inside. She didn't know what to think. Brittany was there; fulfilling every wish Santana had ever had in the past six months. This was exactly how she'd envisioned nights in New York: Kurt and Rachel being ridiculous and entertaining while she and Brittany sat close on the couch, observing the madness.

But things weren't that simple. She still had a painful series of memories tied to her relationship with the blonde. She'd only recently been able to talk about the rejection she felt when Brittany chose Sam months ago. She had that anger over being made to feel like _second_ choice for the _second_ time.

Santana still had dreams of making something of herself that hadn't subsided just because Brittany was sitting here again. She wanted to do things for herself now, had achieved the sweetness of autonomy and was almost unsure if she could go back to doing everything for Brittany and Brittany's sake like she once did.

But then she remembered, things weren't ever really like that. Brittany never needed her constant attention and help like Santana thought the blonde did. That was how Santana had underestimated the girl, she thought again. She wouldn't do it this time. She would never doubt that Brittany could do anything and was the most unicorn of all.

Then, to add to the confusion, Santana still had a date with Audrey on Sunday. She glanced over at Brittany and watched the blonde laugh while crinkling her nose a bit as Kurt and Rachel reached the end of their one-act. It wasn't fair to Audrey to ditch her just because Brittany had showed up. A few hours ago, the upcoming date was one of the highlights of Santana's day. Now, she felt somewhat torn. She knew that she needed to get out in the world and experience more than just… a relationship with Brittany. Like Quinn once said, she was only nineteen and needed to be out gaining life experiences. Brittany should understand that. Santana couldn't abandon all the changes she'd made just because this blonde hand strolled back into her life. She needed to maintain her work ethic, her social life, and if Brittany could fit into all that—then all the better.

Kurt flopped down on the couch, interrupting her thoughts.

"That's a true story, Brit. The homeless man chased Rachel and myself for three blocks after we tried to assuage his anger with number from _Cats: the Musical _but it only seemed to make him more upset," Kurt recalled, slurring slightly, as Brittany giggled. Rachel was pouring the rest of the wine from the bottle and gave a solemn shrug.

"You'd think a stirring rendition of '_Skimbleshanks: the Railway Cat' _would please him… but you'd be wrong," she sadly acknowledged, hiccupping, then joining them on the couch.

Kurt rolled his eyes, leaning in to loudly whisper to the blonde beside him. "I _told_ her that a version of '_Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer'_ would be more well received but she ignored me..." Rachel smacked his arm playfully as they both erupted in giggles.

Brittany smiled at both of them, sipping her wine. "I have no idea what either of those songs are," she admitted, "but they both sound… amazing?"

Kurt and Rachel practically erupted upon hearing this.

"You don't know those numbers? Dear Lord," Kurt appeared flabbergasted. He dramatically twirled (and almost fell off the couch) to look at Rachel, whose gaze was equally shocked. "This is a Broadway emergency." Rachel nodded firmly and finished her glass of wine.

"You _must_ be educated, Brittany. We'll perform both songs for you and then you can give your opinion about which number would be most appropriate to sing to an enraged homeless man. Santana, will you open a new bottle of wine? Kurt and I have to go find his stage cat ears and some makeup so we can do this right," Rachel buzzed, grabbing Kurt's hand. They leapt off the couch, nearly falling over the coffee table, and disappeared through the curtain into the boy's bedroom, obviously to ransack his costume trunk.

Santana sighed and got to her feet, walking to the kitchen with the now-empty wine bottle. She heard Brittany join her as she opened the fridge and grabbed another bottle. She glanced over and saw the blonde leaning against the counter, intently watching her. She sobered up slightly when she realized that they were alone together with Rachel and Kurt occupied elsewhere.

"Are they always like this?" Brittany asked absentmindedly while playing with the hem of her shirt.

Santana nodded, searching through drawers to locate the corkscrew. "Yep, almost always. They are loud and wake me up constantly with their damn singing and make me watch musicals all the time…" she groaned with a smirk, pulling the opener from a jumble of utensils. She fumbled several times with the device and then went to work on the wine bottle, uncorking it after several tries. Her fingers didn't work too well after she'd been drinking a lot. She turned to Brittany whose eyes never left her body. "But they're great. I never thought I'd actually admit to… _not hating_ the fact that I live with them. They were really great when I showed up here suddenly. They made me feel welcome when I was worried that I didn't belong anywhere anymore."

Brittany's smile dropped. Santana could see the concern in her eyes. "You really worried that you didn't belong anywhere?"

Santana shifted uncomfortably on her feet, unsure of how she should answer that question. "I… I really worried that, yes."

Brittany looked like she was heartbroken at that response. She just shook her head and looked down at the floor uncomfortably. "Why…" she suddenly asked, returning her gaze to the brunette's. "Why did you think you didn't belong anywhere?"

"Because, Brit… I always thought that…" Santana's courage faltered visibly before she could finish her thought. She cleared her throat and collected herself, trying not to slur her words. "Because I always thought that I belonged with you. When I came to Lima and realized that I didn't anymore, I didn't know what to do with myself. So I came here."

She didn't wait for Brittany's reaction. She stumbled briskly back into the living room and seated herself on the couch. The blonde didn't follow her immediately, but rather stayed standing in the kitchen for a moment longer. Santana poured herself a large glass of wine and finished it quickly, then refilled her now-empty glass.

The couch shifted as Brittany sat down beside her. They could hear Rachel and Kurt drunkenly bickering over the color of their whiskers in the other room, but the two of them remained silent. Santana poured Brittany more wine and then leaned back against the couch. It was weird having long, unfilled pauses with the blonde; they'd never seemed to find lulls in their conversations before now. It felt strange and wrong.

"I don't know if it will matter if I say it…" Brittany finally spoke, her voice sounding less enthusiastic than Santana could remember, "but I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for accusing you of leaving me behind when you got busy in Louisville with school and cheerleading. It was my idea to apply for that scholarship… and then I resented you when you took advantage of the opportunity. That was selfish of me… so incredibly selfish. I'm sorry for not telling you that I was with Sam… and for choosing him over you when you came back. I saw you in the auditorium with him…"

Santana's heart was pounding against her ribcage. "The auditorium?" She muttered it like it was a question but it wasn't really. As soon as Brittany had mentioned it, Santana knew exactly what she was referring to. She had no idea that the blonde knew that she'd had a musical altercation with Sam. How much did she even hear? The part where Sam pointed out that she still had feelings for Brittany? Or the part where she said she'd never give up on trying to get her back? Shit.

"Yes, the auditorium. I know what happened between you two," Brittany stated but didn't elaborate further; she sipped her wine instead.

"Brit, I was hurt and I needed someone to... unload on. I shouldn't have tried to pick an argument with him," Santana tried to explain. She wasn't sure where Brittany was going with all this.

The blonde shook her head. "No, Santana, don't apologize for what happened." She sighed and ran her fingers along the edge of the wine glass. "When I witnessed what happened in the auditorium, I knew you'd stay for me. I couldn't ask you to do that. So I chose Sam to make sure you'd go. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I just… I wanted to you start your life. You couldn't do it in Ohio… and you couldn't do it if you thought we still had any chance."

Santana felt the pieces click in her fuzzy head. She finally understood Brittany's motivation for what happened. She knew the blonde had a valid reason for doing what she did. "I would have stayed… you're right," she admitted softly, her mind buzzing with this new information. "Well I'm sorry it didn't work out with him. I saw a picture of you two at graduation and you two looked really happy together."

Brittany shook her head, incredulous at this comment. "Stop, Santana."

Santana felt her head humming with all the alcohol she'd consumed. She hadn't realized how messed up she was until she'd downed that glass of wine in one fell swoop. "No… it's ok to talk about it. Break ups are hard and if you need to… vent or something, I'm here. That's what friends do."

Brittany halted her with a hand on her wrist. The skin that her fingers touched seemed to burn. Santana gulped. "You don't get it, do you? I'm not sad about Sam. I broke up with him when there was even the most remote of chances that I was headed to New York and would be near you again. I broke up with him because as sweet and as nice as he was… he didn't stand a chance against you," Brittany told her firmly. "Because… _you win_. There is no competition when it comes to my heart—because _you always win_."

The breath died in Santana's lungs rendering her speechless. Her heart fluttered and beat wildly. The room swam around her head and the only still point in the turning, whirling madness was Brittany's endless blue eyes. They remained firm and provided Santana with a focal point when she thought she might float away.

She didn't get a chance to respond because suddenly Kurt and Rachel dramatically (sloppily) entered the living room wearing cat ears and showcasing their elaborately painted faces. In their drunken state, they'd done a rather poor job of making themselves look like felines: the whiskers on their cheeks were skewed and uneven. It was a pretty hilarious sight to behold. They seemed oblivious to the moment they'd just interrupted.

"Ok ladies," Kurt announced, tipsy and trying to sound more catlike by meowing intermittently, "we're going to start with Rachel's chosen number and then we'll do mine. You two decide which one is more appropriate for the given circumstances." With that, Kurt and Rachel launched into their respective numbers, complete with cat dancing moves and rolling around on the floor for effect.

Santana could barely pay attention to their ridiculous song and dance routine. Any other time, she would have ripped them a new one. She would have mercilessly mocked them for spending so much time painting one another's faces to look like cats and then donning stupid ears to complete the same look as a toddler who'd been dropped on their head. She would have urged them to get spayed and neutered and then rolled her eyes a couple times for good measure. But at this moment, she was too busy replaying Brittany's words in her head over and over again.

When the caterwauling eventually stopped, Santana let Brittany make up some excuse that both songs seemed equally good for placating an erratic hobo. Satisfied with this response, Kurt and Rachel stopped singing, which benefitted everyone. Then they'd all returned to trading stories, reliving old Glee club memories, and drinking wine—but not before Brittany snatched the cat ears off of Kurt's head and put them on. The cat ears on her roommates looked terrible, Santana mused, but when Brittany wore them, they were exceptionally adorable. She giggled as Brittany took Rachel's pair and slid them onto her head, smoothing her dark hair for a moment with a small smile before sitting back on the couch. If her roommates had attempted to make her wear cat ears, she would have told them to go fuck themselves. However, wearing a matching pair with Brittany was something else entirely. She just dumbly smiled at the sweet gesture and ignored the looks her roommates were shooting at her.

* * *

The evening became a blur. When Santana sobered up (because they ran out of wine) she noticed it was early morning instead of late at night. They'd spent hours drinking and catching up.

"Holy shit," she exclaimed, glancing over at Kurt and Rachel who were slumped over on the couch together. Brittany was curled up beside them too; remarkably, her clothes had stayed on (she must have blown straight past her stripper drunk stage to just really drunk instead). "Guys, it's like… three in the morning."

Brittany sat up suddenly, rubbing her eyes. Her cat eyes sat on her head at a weird angle, mussing up her hair a bit in the back. She looked adorable, Santana noted through her haze. Brittany yawned and stretched, her shirt riding up to show off a sliver of taut skin and her belly button. Santana gulped and managed to drag her eyes away. "I should be getting back to my dorm," Brittany muttered, standing up. She stumbled a bit as she tried to get a bearing on her surroundings.

Kurt sat up and reached out to grab her hand. "Don't be ridiculous, Brit. It's almost three. You're in New York now—which means it's sketchy as fuck outside and there's no way any of us are putting you in a taxi and sending you out into the unknown," he told her, pulling her back to the couch. "Stay here tonight."

Rachel rolled off the couch and then ungracefully clamored up from off of the floor. "I second Kurt's suggestion," she slurred. Then she managed to shuffle her way into her bedroom. They heard her bed creak as she collapsed on top of it, probably passing out. Kurt rolled his eyes as they all heard a soft snoring emanating from the darkness beyond the curtain.

Brittany's eyes shot to Santana's, unsure it she was ok with her sleeping over. Santana rolled her eyes in response. "Of course you're staying, Brit. You can't leave drunk at three in the morning." She got to her feet and waved Kurt off, telling him that she'd take care of Brittany. He shot her a very glazed over smirk that read _yeah you will _before he bade them both farewell and disappeared off to his room.

Suddenly Santana found herself alone with Brittany in the empty living room. She tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut that tried to convince her to urge the blonde to just share her bed rather than sleep on the couch. She beckoned Brittany to follow her to the bedroom. "Come on, I'll get you some sleep clothes. You probably don't want to sleep in that sundress."

Santana didn't know if Brittany had seen her room already. Rachel probably conducted a tour before she'd gotten home from work, pointing out the insane nuances and historical intricacies of the loft. _"Here is where Kurt and I performed our first duet upon moving in!" "Here's where Santana went all Snix on me after I tried to give her a NYADA application for the fall semester and told she that she wasn't gay enough for musical theater." _Santana almost heard the brunette's shrill voice echoing away in her own mind.

Even if Rachel had given Brittany a tour of the room, the blonde didn't act like it. In fact, she looked like she'd crossed over the wardrobe into Narnia and could scarcely believe it. She slowly walked around, running her fingers over every surface like she wanted to absorb any memories she'd missed. She tried hard not to spend too much time feeling the soft fabric of the dresses Santana had hanging up, possibly reminiscing over the curves where they'd clung to. Brittany also pointedly avoided looking over the bed in the center of the space. Santana watched as the blonde bypassed it to step over to the desk on the other side of the room.

The creaking of drawers pulled Brittany from the reverence she was showing towards Santana's room. She watched as Santana handed her a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top.

"Thanks," she spoke softly, taking the clothes in her hands. "Where should I change… um…"

Santana interjected. "The bathroom… if you want," she suggested. She shifted awkwardly on her feet, dropping her eyes. "I'll get some blankets and a pillow."

Brittany didn't say anything at this. She just nodded sharply and exited through the curtain.

Santana changed into her own sleep clothes rather quickly, putting on just a navy tank top and a pair of red short shorts. She turned to gather an extra pillow and pull a blanket from her bed. She was bent over, reaching for the pillow when she felt Brittany's presence behind her. The brunette snapped around, catching the blonde eying her lithe body, as she was half on the bed. The sight of Brittany's eyes on her made her skin prick and a heat course through her. Brittany noticed that she'd been caught and blushed with a small smirk.

"Sorry," Brittany grinned, "old habits."

Santana just laughed and threw the pillow at her. It was strange how… _normal_ this all felt. She hadn't seen Brittany in months and here she was standing in the bedroom, wearing Santana's clothes and preparing for bed. It felt so natural that Santana was a little taken aback by it. If she weren't cognizant of all the history that had transpired between them since she'd left last summer— she would assume that this was like any other night with Brittany sleeping over. She'd slipped into the comfortable routine that they'd always had… like the past year hadn't happened.

But the past year _had_ happened. They'd broken up. Santana ended things and then dropped out of school while Brittany began dating Sam. Then the blonde had rejected her attempt to get back together while encouraging the brunette to move to New York. Santana was in the midst of a self-imposed exile of Lima and Brittany was about to start at Juilliard. The people they were months ago were far different than who they both were now. Some changes couldn't be ignored.

Santana remembered all this while trying to ignore the pull she felt towards Brittany as the blonde stood there, waiting for her to say something. She kept her eyes off of the way the tank top showed off Brittany's amazing shoulders and toned arms… and the shorts only added length to her long, smooth legs. She fought back her instincts to touch the other girl by handing off the pillows and blankets, setting them into Brittany's arms to avoid filling them with her own body.

"You can sleep on the couch," Santana stated, trying to convince herself that this was the best solution. Brittany nodded and smiled slipped through the curtains. Santana watched as she settled down, positioning her head on the pillow and throwing the blanket over herself.

Santana busied herself with turning off the lights around the loft, saving the lamp near the couch for last. "Well… I'll just be through that curtain if you need anything, Brit," she informed her. The blonde just nodded her head thankfully, pulling the soft comforter around her body and snuggling up. Santana briefly regretted telling her to sleep out here and then felt her chest ache. She missed cuddling with Brittany, having her as the last person she saw before falling asleep. It almost topped her list under things that she both loved and missed—but Brittany herself always took the first spot.

Santana's arm rose to click the light off, but not before taking one last look at Brittany. The blonde had her face pressed into the pillow, inhaling the fabric deeply and then she shot her a shy smile.

"It smells like you… so do these clothes," Brittany noted in a low voice. "It's… comforting."

Santana couldn't bear to comment on what she'd said. She felt too overwhelmed by the confusing feelings that were seeping into her. She had too much to consider about this terrifying, exhilarating, new development in her life. So she just smiled weakly and told the blonde goodnight. She clicked off the lamp, cloaking the room in darkness. Then she shuffled back to her room. She peaked out at the darkened shape on the couch, only feet away, before she closed the curtain behind her.

She slipped into her bed and tried to calm herself. It drove her insane to know that Brittany, the girl she'd been heartbroken over and the obvious great love of her life, was single and about six feet away on the couch in the living room. Santana couldn't just jump back into things, not after what she'd been through. It wasn't fair that any of this was happening, she told herself over and over again. It just wasn't.

Santana tossed and turned for long minutes, her mind working too hard to allow her to fall asleep. She rolled onto her back and absentmindedly reached her hand over to the empty space next to her, seizing the sheet in her hand, feeling the coolness beneath her fingers.

Her phone lit up on the nightstand next to her. She snatched up it and for the first time in months, saw that she had a text message from Brittany. She quickly read over what it said.

_Can't sleep. You?  
_

Santana's breath hitched in her throat. She snapped her head to look at the sliver of blackness outside the gash in the curtain to where Brittany would be on the couch. She debated her response, reading over the words again and again. Her fingers typed out a message before she had time to properly consider the consequences of it.

_Couch is kinda lumpy. You want to come in here?_

She never got a response. Instead, within a few seconds, she heard the couch creak and the soft padding of Brittany's feet. Before she knew it, the blonde was sliding into the bed next to her, occupying the space she always had. She hadn't checked before pulling back the blankets if Santana was on her side, or had to ask her to move. She automatically knew somehow that when she went to that side of the bed, it would be empty and waiting for her. It was Santana's tender reliability and Brittany's blind faith in her demonstrated in one simple act.

* * *

Brittany should have known better. Once she was in the bed, tucked under the blankets and face to face with the brunette, she could feel the resolve she vowed to maintain slowly slipping. She wanted to be with Santana again—body and soul—for the long haul. She wanted nothing more than to pretend like they'd never broken up, ignore that the past months never happened, and then straddle the brunette. She wanted to know if Santana still kissed the same way she always did, with those soft supple lips and a hint of tongue. She wanted to dip her mouth to the other girl's and make up for the lost time (they weren't discussing, rather actively ignoring).

But she'd hurt Santana too much to ask for that. Brittany needed to figure out how to be friends, without the benefits, and build trust between them. She had to start somewhere else and prove to the other girl that she wasn't going to leave again, that she only wanted Santana… that she knew the brunette was worth fighting for. So she kept her limbs and mouth to herself and just watched Santana's face. Flickers of emotion played over the brunette's features, giving away that she was definitely as confused as Brittany was.

It was as if she had been reading the other's girls mind.

"You have no idea how much I want to forget that any time has passed," Santana stammered, staring into the blonde's endless blue eyes. "I want to be that Santana again and just… take you into my arms and kiss you like I used to. My whole body aches to do it… but I can't. My heart can't take it. I can't just dive headfirst into things. I can't forget that rejection, those empty months, that loneliness. I need time," she whispered softly. "But it's so hard to be this close and to tell my body not to react to yours."

"I'm not asking anything of you," Brittany reminded, her hands clutching at the blankets as if to keep from reaching out to the other girl.

"I know you're not- not verbally, Brit. I just have so much shit to work through… my mind is a fucking mess."

"What's wrong, Santana? What's going on inside that head?" Brittany wondered aloud, lightly touching the soft hairs at the other girl's temples. Santana fought against the urge to cry.

"I just don't know what to do, Brit. We've been apart for a while now. I have a life here, one that I want you to be part of, but I need you to understand how…" she gulped and inhaled deeply, "how things are different now. I have been without you for so long that I need to relearn to trust myself with you again. I can't just go back to the way we were. I've been hurt too much and become too cynical. The good you promised was in me… maybe it's hidden better, deeper somewhere inside and I have a harder time finding it now. I need to figure out how to be around you again without being… with you."

"I'm not expecting to show up and get back together with you," Brittany admitted with a slight, sad shrug. "You have an entire life here that you've been building. I refuse to ask you to change any part of who you are here. You have relationships with people and memories of places and events… and I will never understand them the way that you do. I have a lot of work to do, San, and I don't mean in school or at the dance studio. I need to show you who I am now. You know the Lima Brittany… the girl you met when we were 15. I've been gone from your life for six months too. I've changed. It's going to take time," Brittany reluctantly stated. "We need to figure out who we are… who we are with one another as friends before we can hope for anything more. I think it's for the best. We need to find our place in one another's lives again."

Santana felt a pang within her, realizing how much the blonde had grown up in the year since everyone else graduated. Brittany looked somber and reserved as she told the brunette these things. She spoke with the insight and wisdom of someone who has had to move on from the person they always thought they were and figure out what was really inside all along.

"So… you just want to be friends?"

"Don't you think that's the best we can hope for right now? I've been in New York for like… a day now. I need to be more independent, San. I think I realized that this summer," Brittany told her. "I went from hooking up with almost everyone at McKinley, to secretly sleeping with you, to dating Artie, to being in a relationship with you, to Sam. I think this is a good time to find out who I am by myself; I need to spend some time focusing on that. I want you in my life again, I absolutely know that… but for now, I think just working at being friends is the best way to be around one another."

"I… I really missed you," Santana stated, her voice rising to barely above a whisper. "I keep thinking this is a dream and I'm going to wake up and… you will have been just another figment of my imagination."

Brittany's initial thought to prove that she was really there was to lean over and kiss Santana until she was reassured. But she didn't. She just gave the other girl a small smile. "I'm really here, San," she reassured the worried brunette. "I'm not going anywhere. And… I really missed you too."

Santana watched as the blonde reached out, finding her hand in the dark. The brunette observed as a slim pinky finger on Brittany's left hand intertwined itself with the same finger on her own right hand. It was such a simple gesture but it meant so much. The volume of emotion and history behind it almost took Santana's breath away.

Then she wasn't there anymore. It was as she'd slipped like Alice and fallen deep down a rabbit hole, remembering.

* * *

They'd devised the interlocking of their smallest fingers as a substitute for hand holding when they were sophomores. It was the year that Santana had realized that the kiss in the pool over the previous summer haunted her and she was driven by some cosmic force to do it again. She'd acted like it was no big deal at the time, getting drunk and then using that as an excuse to try it again with Brittany at a party. They'd danced together dozens of times but this time it felt different, Santana remembered noticing. Brittany's eyes had a glint in them, betraying something else brewing inside the blonde's mind. Santana had ignored it and continued grinding against the other girl, oblivious to the rest of the world- Brittany tended to have that effect on her.

Before Santana knew what hit her, they were in the bathroom, pressed against the door, hands tangled in each other's hair. Brittany's mouth had been so sweet, like vodka and bubblegum mixed, that Santana didn't know how she'd ever manage to detach her lips from the blonde's. The girl's body fit against her own so perfectly that Santana could immediately feel every breath Brittany took. She sensed the soft inhale and exhale of air through the blonde's nose upon her face as they kissed, but Santana also felt the quick movement of Brittany's ribcage as they smashed their torsos together in an attempt to get closer.

Finally Brittany had pulled away, pressing her forehead against Santana's. The only sounds they'd heard came the booming bass of the party downstairs and the ragged breaths that came from their now-separated lips.

"I've never done that before," Brittany had mumbled when she'd gotten enough oxygen to speak again. She ran her fingers up and down Santana's arms, creating goose bumps.

Santana raised one eyebrow in confusion. "Done what? You've kissed someone before, Brit. Hell, we kissed in my pool this summer, remember?"

"I've never kissed someone who I have actual… real… intense… feelings for… until now," Brittany whispered, so low that Santana wasn't even sure she'd heard it correctly until the blonde had looked up at her, somewhat sheepishly. Her breath died in her lungs, as their foreheads remained pressed against one another's.

Santana didn't (at that time) have the nerve to say anything back to the blonde, so she showed her how the admission made her feel. But instead of grabbing at Brittany again, Santana leaned in a softly kissed her, lips tender and sweet rather than rushed and frantic. When she pulled back, something in Brittany's eyes expressed that despite the lack of words, the feeling was mutual.

Santana remembered staring into those blue eyes, past long lashes and into Brittany's soul in that moment.

After that, they'd had a long discussion about how Santana cared about Brittany but wasn't quite comfortable with holding hands or gross amounts of PDA. So they compromised by holding pinkies wherever they went. It was a way to feel close to one another without acting in a manner that could be construed as romantic by an outside observer. It was how they said they loved one another without words. It was how they stayed emotionally engaged when they couldn't physically.

The gesture spoke volumes if you listened closely enough.

That's why when Brittany did it then, in the dark, in Santana's bed, after all those long months—it spoke volumes too.

It was a promise. It was a vow to rebuild their foundation, one emotional brick at a time. It was a guarantee that when Santana fell asleep that night, Brittany would be there in the morning—that she'd be there every morning if she was allowed to be. It was a declaration that they were both in this together even if… for now… all they could be were friends.

* * *

**Good chapter? Thoughts? Constructive criticism? GO REVIEW!**


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

Author's Note: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed. I meant for this chapter to be a little longer, but I'm anticipating that the next section of it could get lengthy. Therefore, this chapter might end with a (sort of) cliffhanger- but just know that things will be rectified shortly. Promise.

* * *

Brown eyes fluttered from sleep into lucidity sometime the next day. This first thing that Santana noticed was the lack of arms surrounding her. When she and Brittany had dropped into a sleepy silence last night, she'd felt warm limbs wrap around her as soon as the blonde thought she'd fallen asleep. She had just savored how nice it felt to be held and slipped into unconsciousness. Now, the body heat and the smell of shampoo from the other girl were painfully absent.

She rolled from her side to her back- and bumped into Brittany. The blonde was staring up at the ceiling, unknowingly mimicking the same actions that Santana herself had done for months while envisioning that Brittany was there with her. Santana rubbed her eyes and waited for the other girl to turn and look at her. When she did, the eyes that met her own didn't shine as brightly as they had done the previous night.

"Morning, Britt," Santana grinned sleepily, ignoring the unsettling feeling in her gut. "Did you sleep all right?" The blonde nodded, still silent. "Everything ok?"

The other girl finally forced a smile onto her face. "I slept fine," she informed Santana before looking away to gaze back up at the ceiling. She didn't really answer the "is everything ok" question at all. Santana furrowed her brows, utterly perplexed. Brittany sighed, feeling the sensation of eyes still fixed on her. "Why are you staring at me?" she asked aloud, questioning. Her voice was sharper than the brunette anticipated. It almost hurt.

Santana gulped and looked away. "I like looking at you... that's why. What's going on, Britt? Why are you being so distant?" she wondered, trying to look at anything else other than the girl in her bed whose tense body language panicked Santana. Her pulse quickened in her neck.

Brittany breathed in deeply and didn't answer.

Santana watched her ribcage rise and fall. She was tempted to reach over and run her fingers along the moving sternum, but she realized quickly that touching Brittany like that wasn't exactly something friends did. Wasn't that what they'd settled on last night? They talked about finding places in one another's new lives and being friends first. They needed to work on how they could be together _platonically_ before they could ever hope to be together romantically again. Brittany had seemed open to this idea last night… but now she seemed like she was somewhere else. She'd been physically far away for the last six months, Santana lamented, and here she was, emotionally far away and yet so close.

Finally, Brittany rolled over to her side and stared at Santana. Her eyes burned holes into the tanned skin lying next to her. She finally spoke after several minutes of silence. "Where am I?" she questioned intently.

Santana squinted, unclear about what she was actually being asked. "Where are you, Britt? Did all that alcohol make you forget last night? Did you get amnesia in your sleep?"

"Where am I here, Santana, _in this room in this loft_? You took down all the pictures of us that you used to have everywhere. When we used to Skype while you were in Louisville, you showed me all the stuff you kept to… to remind you of me. But I've been awake for an hour trying to find any remnants that I even existed to you… and there are none," she somberly noted. "Did I… did I really hurt you so badly that you had to erase me?"

Santana wondered how valuable being completely honest actually was in this situation. She wanted to tell Brittany that she removed the pictures and reminders because they hurt too much… but she didn't want to make the blonde feel more guilt than she already did. At the same time, friends were supposed to be completely honest with one another, right?

"I put the pictures and stuff… in a box," Santana started, deciding to be truthful but as gentle as possible. "I put it in storage. Seeing your face hurt too much. I quit Facebook for the same reasons. I kept it all though, Britt, every bit of it."

Brittany pondered this for a moment. "I don't blame you," she finally admitted with a slight shrug. "I had to do the same thing when…" she trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Santana sat up, propped on her elbows. "When what?"

Brittany rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "I shouldn't have brought this up, I'm sorry. I should have left this for a time when we weren't hung over… barely clothed… and in bed together."

The brunette shook her head. "We need to talk about this stuff so we can move on, Britt."

The blonde bit her lip, unsure of her words. Santana tried to avoid the action, and how unbelievably sexy it looked, and how close they were in proximity from one another, and how Brittany was clad in only a tank top with shorts, and how it registered to her directly at the apex of her thighs. She tried to banish those thoughts from her head because they would get her into trouble and she knew it.

The bit about getting everything out into the open finally convinced the other girl. She sighed and dropped her eyes from Santana's. "I did the same thing when you broke up with me… because you said the long-distance was too hard… and you'd had that energy exchange with someone else," Brittany finally finished. "You disappeared back to Kentucky and… I couldn't bear to see your face for weeks. I took down everything that reminded me of what we had. I thought I would die."

Santana hadn't been expecting that. She wasn't totally prepared to delve so deeply into the reasons behind her poor decisions in the past. She knew, from that terrible night at Breadstix just before they broke up, that Brittany was hurt and feeling alone- but they hadn't ever really talked about it since then. Plus, she wasn't emotionally stable enough to be able to explain all the excuses she'd woven to rationalize what she immediately recognized was the worst choice she'd ever made.

"Britt… I…" she stammered numbly, unable to wrap her mind around a response. Brittany reached over and touched shoulder softly. Santana felt that twinge of a current run through her where the blonde's fingers lightly grazed her skin. She closed her eyes so she could focus entirely on that feeling, surrendering the other senses to have her sense of touch heightened.

"It's ok, San," Brittany all but whispered. "We don't have to talk about this now if you don't want to. Seriously, this is too heavy of a conversation for this early." She went to slide her hand off of Santana's shoulder when the brunette's fingers wrapped around her wrist, halting her movement.

"No, Brittany, you're right. I owe you an explanation," she forced herself to say. She opened her eyes and found the blonde's again. "I regretted ending things after about… six steps outside those choir room doors," Santana told her, idly running her thumb over the soft skin of the blonde's wrist. This was going to be hard, she knew. But she owed Brittany this much.

"I thought I was doing it for the right reasons, you know? You were so… sad and lonely when you told me that I'd left you behind. You were upset and I couldn't fix it. I couldn't do anything to make that feeling go away. And it terrified me. I'd always been able to fix things before, with mean words or my social standing or whatever. But I couldn't fix that," she admitted, feeling goose bumps emerge on the arm she was holding. "It was the first time that… that I felt any doubt that we would make it. It never crossed my mind before then. I knew I was busy and that you were still in Lima… but I never imagined how bad it must have been for you. So when you told me all that, I panicked and I did what I always do—I avoided the problem. I thought that by… ending things… you wouldn't miss me so much… because you wouldn't have anyone to miss."

Santana felt a hot shame reach her neck and ears.

"The thing is that I never expected how badly it would hurt to say those words to you. I can only imagine how it must have felt like to hear them. That energy exchange I talked about? I neglected to mention that the instant that other girl smiled at me, the first thing that same to mind wasn't _she's into me_ or even _she's cute_… it was _she's not Brittany_," Santana finally said aloud. It was first time she'd even had the courage to articulate that thought verbally. It was something she'd only ever _thought_, repeated like a mantra over and over again, when she'd thought back to that day in the library.

She's not Brittany. She's not Brittany. No one could ever be Brittany.

Brittany's voice came out, small and unsure. "Really?"

Santana nodded, forcing out an awkward laugh. "Yeah, really." She looked down at the circles her fingertips were making on Brittany's skin. "I thought that I was making your life easier by taking a step back. I missed you for months. I started skipping classes and I quit the cheerleading team… I felt like the only thing that had ever kept me together was you. And I purposefully pushed you away. I forgot all my reasons for being in Louisville and my motivation for succeeding… and I dropped out. It wasn't until Tina called and told me that you were with Sam… that I finally got the motivation to come back to Lima," Santana explained, trying to be as open as possible. She fought to maintain eye contact with the blue eyes that were locked on her own. She wasn't proud of this part of her story.

"Even then, I was so _selfish_. Hearing that you'd moved on made me desperate to see you… to make you jealous… so that I would have some indication that I still had a place in your heart. If you got upset, it meant that I still mattered. I was petrified that you'd completely moved on and that I would never have a shot to get you back again once I realized how much I need you. I should _never_ have… asked you… to break up with him. I shouldn't have done that… especially because the entire reason you were single in the _first place_ was because of my own cowardice," Santana regretfully expressed.

She resisted the urge to allow herself to cry; she would just be expressing pity for her own stupid decisions. That's not what this was supposed to be about.

"I'm sorry, Britt. I'm sorry for being stupid and scared _all over again_… and hurting you… _all over again._ If it helps… I regret doing it. I think about it every day. I wish I had worked harder to come home on the weekends while I was in school. I wish I had made time for us, like I should have. I should have been better for you… and I wasn't. I have been repentant for my actions for so many months… I have hated myself for them," Santana voiced quietly, her throat suddenly becoming thick with emotion. "I want you to know that even while broken up… I never for one second… stopped thinking about you."

Her words answered so many questions that had been plaguing the blonde for long months. Brittany needed to know what had been running through the other girl's head in order to move on. Now she knew why Santana had done what she had… why she'd broken them up… why she'd stayed away… why she'd come back, pretending to have some new girlfriend to prance around in front of the Glee club with. In that moment, she once again fleetingly wanted it to be simple, to forgive and forget all those lost months, to be able to move on immediately. But things weren't like that in real life.

Santana continued softly. "You told me goodbye in that auditorium and went to meet Sam… and I thought my life was over. I kissed you and it seemed like a _goodbye_ kiss… not like a _see you later_ kiss. That was what drove me to leave. Your words encouraged me… but that absence of emotion convinced me," Santana further explained. "When I got here, to New York, I still thought about you every single day. I wondered if you were happy… if Sam was treating you well… if you ever missed me. I think I lived more in my head than in reality for a few weeks."

Brittany nodded, not wanting to interrupt, still wrapped up in Santana's story. "And you were busy too… you graduated. Rachel and Kurt took pictures for me. When I saw the one of you crossing that stage in your cap and gown… Brit, I can't even explain it. I thought I would explode from pride," the brunette mumbled, bashful suddenly at how much of her thoughts this other girl consumed regularly.

Brittany blushed at this. "I wish you could have been there, San. I thought you might be somewhere in the crowd out of sight, but they told me you stayed in New York," she admitted, trying not to seem too upset about the brunette's absence. "Did you… did you see the picture from Tina's party?"

Santana nodded after a second. "Yes… Kurt showed me. You looked so beautiful, Britt. I felt so stupid for not being there. But I refused to go back to Lima until I could… umm… I thought that the only way I could possibly get you back again was if I did something to earn your love again. I wanted to become famous or make it big or whatever… so that you would remember all those things you loved about me in the first place."

Brittany's eyebrows furrowed. "Have I _ever_ made you think that I needed success or fame to impress or make you attractive to me? _I just wanted you_, Santana, no more and no less," the blonde stated forcefully.

Santana's eyes dropped away, shamefully.

"It was a ridiculous fantasy- I know that now. I need to want things for me, you know? I need to prove things to myself," Santana countered, still clutching onto the other girl's wrist softly, stroking it. "I worked as a hostess until I pissed off this… horrible customer… who turned out to be a big time producer at Metropolis Records. He liked my sass and offered me a job. I started at the end of May," Santana recounted. "The silly thing was, the first day I started, I remember thinking that I was _finally_ on the right track to making you proud again." She paused to smile shyly at Brittany.

"And that's where you met… Audrey?" Brittany suddenly asked, her voice nonchalant and unassuming.

Santana felt the warmth that was growing in her gut turn into a chill.

Audrey… she'd totally forgotten all about the girl once she'd spotted Brittany sitting in her living room. They were supposed to have a date tomorrow, she realized. She didn't know what to do. She didn't want to ditch the barista just because Brittany was in town. At the same time, she didn't want Brittany to think she'd moved on or wasn't interested in something more once they'd worked their shit out.

"Yeah, that's where I met her," she finally was able to force out. She wasn't sure how to proceed. She might as well be honest with Brittany, since they were trying to rebuild trust and a foundation here. "I'm going to try to be truthful with you, Britt. I mean… I think I like her. We ate lunch together every day this summer. She made me forget that I was alone… that you weren't around… even if it only was for an hour a day. So I asked her out yesterday," Santana scratched her head with her free hand. "But then I came home and you were there."

"Well… I appreciate your honesty," Brittany responded hesitantly. "You shouldn't break your date with her just because I'm here. I mean- if we're going to work on our _friendship_, then that's what we need to do. You don't owe me anything, you know? You don't need to blow off Audrey for me… I'm not asking you to do that. I think that it is important that we both have new experiences. If in the future, we work things out to where we decide to try to date again, I don't want there to be any regret in your mind, like you missed out on being with other people. Like you said, we're nineteen. We don't have to make _forever decisions_ right now."

Brittany said these things, but in the back of Santana's mind, she already knew that the other girl _was_ a concrete forever decision. The blonde had a point though; she did owe something to Audrey after asking her out. The least she could do was give her one date, right?

The blonde sighed heavily. She had just moved to New York and Santana had been a huge, deciding factor in her coming here. However, Brittany knew that she couldn't just insert herself in the other girl's life. If Santana made a promise to take some other girl out, as much as it sucked, she needed to keep that promise. If things were meant to be, this girl would be a minor distraction in the path towards them getting back together. If things were meant to be, Santana would figure that out when this other girl didn't make her feel like Brittany did. If things were meant to be, the brunette would realize that her heart already belonged to someone else and couldn't be re-gifted to some chick she'd eaten lunch with for three months.

Everything would be worth it, Brittany ultimately knew. Everything that kept them apart would only serve as prompts for their return to one another. Besides, jumping back into a relationship ran the risk of ending poorly. What happened if they got together and realized that they were too different now, that they wanted different things, that they were no longer compatible? That would hurt so much more than just waiting. After everything that they had put one another through, they owed one another that much. Brittany could wait while Santana sorted the situation with Audrey out. She could prove herself to be salient and resilient and trustworthy. She could prove that she was there to choose Santana- and no one else. She would be her friend first, like they'd always tried to be, and keep an open mind.

"I want to work through our shit," Santana suddenly stated. "I want to deal with the past and figure everything out. I want to be able to let go of what we've both done to hurt one another so that we can move forward. I want to… I want to try to be with you again… but we have to get there."

"Hopefully, we _will_ get there," Brittany encouraged, closing her fingers around Santana's hand. "But I can't have you panicking on me or getting scared or running off. I need _you_ to make sure that _you're_ absolutely sure before we… become anything more than friends. I have to see if I fit in your life again, remember? Well you made these plans because you think you like this girl. I cannot, in good faith, try to build something with you if there's a question mark in your mind about someone else. I think you should go on that date, even if it is just to see what it feels like to date another girl."

Through her fingertips, Santana lightly felt the pulse that was echoing through Brittany's wrist. She listened to Brittany tell her to go out with Audrey, but part of her wanted to just stop things. She wanted to shake her head and refute the suggestions. She wanted to say that there was no place in her heart for anyone else. But she had to prove it to herself before she could prove it to the blonde.

Santana sighed and nodded softly, almost begrudgingly. "You're right… and you've always been too smart for me, Britt. You know what's best before I do." She picked up Brittany's hand gently and turned it so her palm faced the ceiling. "But you also have to know… you are always going to be my trump card… you will always beat every hand that anyone could play." Then she leaned over, closing her eyes, and placed a soft, chaste kiss on the supple underside of the girl's wrist, unable to keep from doing it.

Brittany shivered at the touch of Santana's lips on her skin after so long. She felt that familiar tingle rush through her body, searing every nerve in her system. She found herself exhaling a soft barely audible moan unconsciously as the other girl removed her mouth slowly from her wrist.

Without thinking, a hand snaked its way up into Santana's hair, clutching onto her neck. Brittany forgot that "normal friends" didn't kiss or lust after one another. "Normal friends" didn't suddenly picture the other writhing on the bed or straddling naked hips or wandering hands beneath blankets. "Normal friends" didn't become painfully aroused at a mouse-kiss on a wrist.

It occurred to Brittany, in that moment, that she and Santana were never quite normal friends to begin with. Maybe they were always meant to be one another's soul mates. But then her mind clouded, as she still seemed to feel the tingle that Santana's lips had burned into her skin. Then all she could think of was getting that mouth back onto her body.

Santana felt her neck being tugged towards Brittany's face, her wild eyes begging for something that she wasn't sure she should give. She watched as the other girl quickly moistened her own lips with a quick swipe of her tongue. The flash of pink reminded her exactly how agile and brilliant that part of Brittany's body was, especially when applied to specific areas… specific areas that were throbbing at their sudden close proximity.

She wanted to say fuck it and give in. She wanted to kiss Brittany like her entire body was pleading for her to do it. She wanted to know the blonde still tasted the same, felt the same against her mouth. That was what had eaten away at her over the past several months. In truth, it wasn't the _loneliness_ that had bothered her so deeply; the _forgetting_ troubled her the most.

She'd lost little things about their relationship, details so minute that they just escaped her over time. Things she wanted to sear into her mind eventually faded around the edges, despite her own protests. She wanted to remember how Brittany sighed contently when they kissed for long periods of time, or the way she placed her hands on Santana's body, whether it be tenderly rubbing the back of her neck or threading their fingers together. She always wanted to know the dip in the blonde's abdomen just next to her hipbone that allowed for hands to slip easily under clothes. She wanted to chart the locations of moles, freckles, or birthmarks so she could find her way back if she got too lost savoring soft skin.

She wanted to have distinct memories of all those things so that she would never lose them, so they were always a part of her. She wanted to absorb them so that they became as natural to her as her own skin. But time robbed her of some of that. Sometimes she would forget parts; they would become vague smudges. It terrified her—the notion that her mind allowed things to evaporate… like smoke out of her head, just gone suddenly.

* * *

A war waged within Santana. She didn't want to ruin the process of finding their places in one another's lives. She didn't want to skip the step where they relearned to be friends and just leapt back into a relationship. If they failed again, she doubted that they'd have another chance. They needed to be adults about this, she knew. They needed to set boundaries and respect them. They needed time to heal their wounds and allow them to grow closer.

But _fuck_. They'd _had_ months of being apart. They'd _had_ time and space already. They'd been through so much that Santana almost didn't care about what she should or shouldn't do. She wanted to remember those things she'd forgotten, like a single kiss from Brittany would unlock them from deep within her heart. She needed to be close to the blonde again, so much so that her entire body ached. She had missed her so much; she pleaded for a salve for her pain and misery. She wasn't the last person who had tasted the blonde's lovely mouth and it killed her. She _had_ to have the memory back of how Brittany kissed… because she wanted to be the _last person_ who ever got to know that perfect detail. She'd wanted that since she was fifteen years old. Maybe she'd wanted that even earlier... from the first day they'd met years ago.

So she shut off her mind so that her heart could think for her instead.

Santana met Brittany's lips halfway, brushing them lightly against the other girl's. The same brilliant current that she'd always felt when they were together ran through her as she encountered the softness of the blonde's mouth. The kiss was barely there, a simple test of the waters, a means to gauge their respective reactions. But once they'd pulled back, it was clear to both of them that they wanted more. One briefly graze of their lips couldn't begin to satiate the desire they felt, bubbling just below the surface.

Suddenly all the pretenses they'd been tiptoeing around since Brittany arrived seemed to vanish. They were the same girls they'd always been. They were the same girls who had sleepovers in hand-me-down sleeping bags and stayed awake giggling all night until tired parents reprimanded them at four AM. They were the same girls who told one another their deepest secrets, cloaked in the darkness of dens and basements and living room floors. They were the same girls who could read one another's body languages like classic well-loved novels; they were nonverbal scholars with the aptitude to decipher a single sigh or a shrug of the shoulders. They were the same girls who came to one another for comfort when the entire world seemed against them, knowing that the other could make everything better with reassuring words and whispered promises that things would work out. They were the same girls who kissed for fun. Then kissed because it felt nice and they kinda liked it. Then kissed because it ignited something low in their bellies and touched parts of themselves that they never existed. Then kissed because it was the only way they could find to express how they felt- because saying the words that thudded in their hearts _aloud_ was too daunting of a task for teenagers. They were the same girls, bad times and good. When it all came down to it, they were always going to be the halves of the same whole.

Santana didn't give her worries another thought as Brittany tangled a hand in her hand and pulled her closer. Their lips went from just barely grazing to drinking of one another, deep passionate kisses that reacquainted them with the tastes of mouths and gentle fluttering of tongues. The touch was unrushed and slow like dripping honey. Santana's hands found purchase on the side of Brittany's neck and her side. Her fingers squeezed her skin softly, as if to prove to her mind that her heart was indeed experiencing the blonde's kiss again after so long. The brunette gripped her closer, hands working feverishly to hold the blonde so that (perhaps) she wouldn't float away. She was alive again and where she should have been all along.

But Brittany broke the kiss first, choosing instead to lean her forehead against Santana's. Both were out of breath, their faces flushed and lips red from their vigorous actions. Santana whimpered a moment, wanting to continue with where they'd been headed. Brittany just shook her head.

"San… we need more time," she forced herself to admit. "I want to do this… so badly… but I can't risk losing you. We need to just… just…" Brittany stammered, trying her hardest not to dive back into the puffy, welcoming lips belonging to the girl staring intently at her. She shook her head, trying to regain the purpose in her actions. "We can't just go straight to hooking up. We have to do the things that we've been talking about… we have to do this right."

Santana's mind resurfaced during Brittany's ramblings. She nodded and sighed, unhooking herself from touching the other girl's body. She tried to slow her rapidly beating heart and still her lungs from gasping. "You're right," she finally was able to agree after several long moments. "We have to take time to find out how we fit together again."

She was about to delve further into the conversation when they both heard someone throw open the door to the loft. Though the curtains obscured the entering roommate from sight, the overwhelming sound of tears could be hear from the living room. Santana scrambled out of the bed as Brittany followed suit.

* * *

Upon entering the main room, they found Kurt sobbing on the couch. A flash of brown whirled past them and suddenly Rachel was there, comforting him.

"There there, Kurt," she cooed, pulling his head onto her lap, "it's going to be ok." She rubbed his shoulders and squeezed him, but her actions did little to abate his tears. Brittany crouched down next to the couch, trying to catch Kurt's eye. Then she glanced up at Rachel.

"What happened?" she asked softly as to not upset the boy further.

Rachel sighed and shook her head sadly.

Santana strode forward, crossing her arms over her chest. "Listen, you two, I'm sorry that the matinee showing of that new Kate Hudson movie sold out but you don't need to get this emotional about it. It will be on TV in weeks…" she teased. No one smiled at her joke.

Kurt only sobbed harder and Rachel shot her a nasty glare.

"Can't you lay off for once, Santana?" she snapped, continuing to stroke his head. Brittany shrugged apologetically at the Latina, still oblivious to what was going on. Rachel took a deep breath and looked back and forth between the two of them. "Kurt… um… is… newly single."

Santana's mouth dropped open and Brittany, too, looked shocked. Blaine had arrived in town that morning but neither one had anticipated a break up _less than a day _since he moved into the dorms. Santana suddenly felt a little guilty for making jokes during this time.

She walked over the couch and sunk down next to Kurt's sobbing body, sandwiching his form between her and Rachel who was doing her best to help. "Shit, I'm sorry, Kurt," she whispered, rubbing his ankle which was the closest thing to her. "I didn't know. What… what happened? I mean you don't have to talk about it yet; I totally get that…" she rambled on, not quite knowing what to do.

Kurt's chest heaved and he sat up, his eyes rimmed in red. "I'll tell you what happened! Blaine moved in two hours ago and discovered his roommate is this… gorgeous gay dancer with huge muscles, chiseled features, and eyes like milk chocolate! Rach and I dropped by to see his new dorm and he was acting all weird—he didn't even introduce me as his boyfriend. Before I knew it, he took me into the hall and told me his priorities had changed about our relationship. He said he wanted to see other people and this was the best for us but we could still be _friends_," he spat, livid. "I can't believe him! I gave him years of my life! I helped him fill out his application to NYADA for goodness sake! Now we're finally back in the same city after so long and he wants to see other people? You've got to be kidding me."

Brittany's eyebrows knotted and she remained silent. Santana briefly wondered if it was because this situation seemed to oddly mirror the one they'd been in months ago. It was a strange parallel: time apart, a break up, and a (possible) quick rebound. Seeing Kurt so obviously distraught reminded Santana of how much they'd put one another through and how far they'd come. Her lips tingled at the kiss they'd been sharing before this drama dropped into their lap. From the look Brittany was shooting her, she must have been thinking the same. She smiled softly before a loud sob from Kurt brought her back to reality.

"You'd think he'd be happy to see me—but no! He's already banking on fucking his roommate. He's so obvious that it makes me sick," Kurt sniffed, reaching for the box of tissues that Brittany had somehow located and was holding out to him. "I gave him my virginity and now he's going to be blowing that dude by the end of the week. What a shallow prick… _with a small prick_."

Rachel rubbed his shoulder sympathetically. "I know how hard this is Kurt," she offered. "Finn and I have been apart for months. If he moved here, I would kind of expect that we'd try to still be together. I'd be so… _angry_ and _hurt_ if he came here … just to blow me off." Kurt nodded with her, blowing his nose loudly.

Santana shot Brittany an awkward glance at these words. They were back in the same city after all this time apart… and were unsure how to proceed too. Whereas Blaine ended things, they'd both seemed to agree to take things slow—which was better than nothing obviously. It was sort of implied that they'd see how they felt about things and eventually try to be together again—so they weren't exactly in the same boat as these two others. If this conversation had reaffirmed anything to Santana, it was that she wanted to work to get back to that place with Brittany… no matter how long it took. But judging by the ferocity of the make out session that morning, the wait might not be as long as she'd once thought. Their mouths still fit together flawlessly, they still had the beats of one another's hearts memorized, and they still knew the contours of one another's bodies even if months had passed. Though Santana had worried that she had forgotten those things while they had been broken up, the kiss had reassured her that loving Brittany was like breathing: simple, natural, innate.

"It's so not fair," he groaned, laying his head back on Rachel's lap. "Was I stupid to assume that we'd be together when he came back into town? I thought that was the plan. I pushed him so hard to come to NYADA because I wanted us to work… and then he throws it all away for a perfectly sculpted statuesque heartthrob named D'Angelo." Kurt sat up suddenly, his breathing growing faster. "He already cheated on me once in Lima—how was I stupid enough to ever trust him again?" He broke out into wracking sobs again before any of them could say anything.

In the midst of the tears and the flurry of used tissues piling up around Kurt, Santana heard her phone ring in the bedroom. She slipped off of the couch and through the curtains to her bedside table. Gazing down at the vibrating cell, the name _Audrey_ flashed across the screen. Her throat tightened automatically. Shit.

Santana held the phone in her hand and watched as she missed the call. She thought back to the conversation with Brittany earlier, where the blonde had told her forcefully to go out with this new girl, to not change things just because she'd arrived back in town, to continue on with life. Twenty-four hours ago, Santana would have been thrilled if Audrey were calling. Now, it seemed like a burden that she knew she'd have to deal with. It wasn't that she didn't like the other girl, because she did… but Audrey wasn't Brittany. She never could be. But Santana still needed to make sure of it.

She took a deep breath and exited the curtains. Glancing over at the couch, she saw that Kurt and Rachel were too wrapped up in singing a sloppy, tear-filled rendition of Cher's _Believe_ to notice her standing there. Brittany was sitting awkwardly- either terribly uncomfortable at their off key song or trying to suppress her desire to join in (judging by the look on her face). She met Santana's eyes briefly and the brunette indicated that she had to make a phone call. Ignoring whatever look might flicker across Brittany's face; she headed to the sliding metal door and let herself outside quietly.

* * *

Santana took a seat outside on the stoop, basking momentarily in the bright sunshine. It was another lovely day in the city; the bustle of traffic seemed to go hand in hand with the beauty around her somehow. She couldn't ponder the afternoon or the way that the buildings around her stood out against the blue backdrop of the sky… or the way that the hue of the atmosphere reminded her of Brittany's eyes just before they'd kissed that morning. She had to make a phone call.

The phone rang about three times before she heard a familiar voice pick up.

"_Hey! You're calling me back!"_ Audrey greeted her, sounding a little different over the phone than in person. Santana realized that this was probably because they'd never talked anywhere but the coffee shop before.

Santana cleared her throat, forcing herself to not be a coward for once. "Yeah, hi. I was in the other room and I didn't hear my phone," she explained, picking at the hem of her shorts uneasily. "I thought _I _was supposed to call _you_…"

Audrey's laugh tinkled through her phone speaker. "_That was the plan. I guess I couldn't wait_," she admitted, a hint of teasing in her tone. "_I checked movie times for tomorrow—if you're still interested…_"

Santana knew that she had to be sure of things. She had to find out in anyone else made her feel like Brittany did. She needed to know if anyone else made her blood run faster and her heart pound mercilessly inside her chest. If she didn't ever try dating anyone but the blonde inside the loft… then how could she know that her body reacted like it did _only for Brittany_? There was no way she could be certain unless she forced herself to have new experienced.

Brittany wasn't going anywhere. She was here in New York for good. She wanted Santana to do this. They'd work everything out… but for now this is what Santana needed to do.

"Absolutely," she told Audrey confidently, "what time tomorrow?"

* * *

**good chapter? ok chapter? you hated it? leave a review. i read every word and appreciate feedback.**


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

**Author's Note:** Once again, thank you for all the feedback I've gotten. Enjoy the chapter.

* * *

Kurt was still in shambles when Santana reentered the loft a bit later. She'd talked to Audrey long enough to make plans for their date the next day and then had spent a while sitting on the stoop watching people pass her by. She just wanted to press the pause button on her life so she could try to wrap her mind around the events of the past couple of days.

It took time to get her heart to settle down in her chest, to tell herself that this was the right thing to do. It took convincing—which Santana saw as a bad sign for a future with the other girl. She shouldn't have to force herself to go out on this date, she reasoned, she should _want_ to spend time with Audrey. She was just being ridiculous. Brittany appearing in New York, the promise of a future together, the kiss from this morning—it all seemed to have scrambled her mind. The apprehension she was feeling was just nerves about a first date, she told herself. But no matter how many times she settled on this excuse, a part of her didn't believe it.

It didn't make any sense. Santana should be ecstatic about tomorrow's rendezvous. Audrey was lovely, she really was. She was smart and pushed Santana to think about things in ways she hadn't before. She was charismatic and kind. She could talk with real knowledge about the Naturalism movement in 19th century American literature or unravel the convoluted metaphors in famous stories. Where Santana only saw a silly love story, Audrey saw an allegory on commitment or a haphazard commentary the crumbling of the construct of gender. That was something Santana really liked about her: Audrey saw her ramblings over coffee as more than just anecdotes, but rather a small chapter of the dense novel of Santana's life. She wanted to turn the pages of Santana's story and find out what had happened before they'd met, what she'd been through and how it made the brunette into who she was now. Santana had never met anyone like her.

She tried to keep her head up and the doubts from clouding her face as she rejoined the others inside the loft. Brittany and Rachel were still soothing Kurt, but now in the form of watching some movie on TV and giving one another facial scrubs. Santana just rolled her eyes and dropped onto the couch, careful to not bump Rachel as she smoothed some exfoliant over Brittany's cheekbones. Kurt's eyes were still red but they were remarkably dry—probably because crying would cause the apricot face scrub to clump off.

"What're you watching?" Santana asked as she tried to ignore the slow strokes Rachel was employing to spread the thick, sweet-smelling substance over Brittany's soft temples and jaw line. She didn't want to think about her own fingers tracing the same path… not when she'd just arranged a date for the following day.

Everyone else seemed somewhat oblivious to the hungry yet awkward look on Santana's face, possibly because they were absorbed in the film.

Kurt glanced over at her, looking incredulous that she didn't know what was playing before her. "It's _The Way We Were._" He practically seized with disbelief when Santana showed no flicker of recognition in her eyes. "It's the seminal classic 1973 Barbra Streisand movie about relationships, cheating, love and loss?" She shrugged at him as he paused. "It's about a relationship that crumbles apart. Barbra and the gorgeous Robert Redford love one another but sometimes… love just isn't enough. They meet young and have this great period of time together—but ultimately their relationship can't sustain itself. Years later when they see each other again, they both realize that they were at their best- the best versions of themselves- when they were together. And that's how they remember one another: for who they were back then. Thus the title," Kurt explained.

Santana didn't say anything—she just sat there silently, trying to keep her emotions in check. Was that what she and Brittany were doomed for? An awkward meeting someday on a busy street where they'd both realize that they were the best when they were with one another? She pushed the thought from her head; they weren't going to end up like that. They both already knew that they were their best selves when they were together… their separation now was just a transition period where they took things slow. Wasn't it?

Kurt interpreted her silence as indifference towards his explanation of the movie. He just rolled his eyes at Santana. "You are so… _pedestrian_ sometimes that I can't bear it. Your taste in movies, Santana? Honestly? You don't know or care about _this_ film but you can recite _all the dialogue_ from that horrible _Leprechaun_ movie verbatim? It's tragic."

"I resent that, Lady Hummel. _Leprechaun_ is brilliant. I know all the lines because _that_ movie is good. _This_ movie seems sappy, overwrought and heavy-handed," Santana argued, grabbing the bottle of scrub from the coffee table and pretending to read the ingredients on the back. Her snarky comment was a device to keep them from seeing how much the description of its plot had hit home with her. Kurt rolled his eyes again (even thought Rachel constantly warned him that they'd fall out someday as a result of over-rolling) and went back to ignoring her.

Rachel turned around to glare at her. "While I have to disagree with your _particular taste_ in cinema, Santana, I would still like to invite you to join in our day of pampering. Would you like a facial?"

Santana couldn't resist.

"I think facials are more Kurt's thing…" she replied, snickering. Brittany snorted too, jerking slightly with laughter and in the process, causing Rachel to smear the exfoliant onto the blonde's ear.

To their surprise, Kurt didn't laugh or even get mad at the comment. Instead he began loudly crying again, ruining the mask on his face.

"What if no one ever wants to give me a facial again? I hate Blaine for doing this!" He sobbed, letting his tears mix with the apricot scrub until it looked like it was melting off onto the purple striped towel he had wrapped around his shoulders. The situation only seemed escalate when Rachel refuted his comments, telling him that she didn't understand his concerns—she gave him a good facial only minutes before. Santana and Brittany couldn't help but to become stricken with bouts of laughter, their eyes catching one another's playfully as they rolled around, clutching their sides.

* * *

They didn't talk about the phone call until later that evening. Santana walked Brittany to the subway station nearby and stood awkwardly as the other girl watched her fidget.

"You sure you don't wanna stay over again?" Santana asked, trying to ignore the odd sense of déjà vu she was feeling leaving Brittany again. It made her uneasy and she just… didn't like it. "I mean, Kurt's bound to stop crying eventually…right?"

The blonde shook her head and shouldered her purse a little. "I would… but I can't. I have that orientation at Juilliard tonight. They're having some sort of dorm pajama party to get the entire freshman class acquainted—with pizza and karaoke." Santana nodded somberly. "Besides, you need your beauty sleep for your date tomorrow. Wait—I take that back. You don't need any beauty sleep—you're already lovely enough." Brittany winked, trying to take the nerves out of bringing up the topic that neither one of them wanted to talk about.

Santana gulped loudly. "How'd you…"

"How'd I know you made the date? I just assumed. I wasn't sure but your expression just answered my question."

Santana looked sheepish. "Yeah, we're just going to the movies tomorr—" Brittany held up her hand, cutting her off.

"You don't have to tell me- we can talk about it afterwards," she reassured the brunette. "Have a good time and… be open to new things, you know? We're never going to know how—_this_—is going to work if we aren't honest and open with one another. Go on your date. Enjoy yourself. We'll talk later, ok?" Brittany ordered; Santana just nodded dumbly.

"Ok. You going to be all right on the subway? You want me to travel back with you or anything?" Santana offered, trying to be chivalrous. Once again she wasn't giving the blonde enough credit because Brittany shook her head playfully.

"San, I'll be fine," she assured her. "I know how to ride on a subway. I know my stop and not to let any homeless people touch my boobs. I'll talk to you soon… ok?" She questioned, cocking her head to the side.

"Yeah, of course," Santana agreed, giving her a soft smile. "Listen, I know you're a pro at this and all... but text me and let me know you got back to your dorm safely, ok? If you don't—I'm just going to worry about you all night." Something in those words pleased Brittany. She smiled brightly and promised to do so.

Before taking the stairs down the subway, Brittany lingered for a moment, standing close to Santana and bouncing on the balls of her feet indecisively. Finally, she seemed to make a decision on something. The blonde leaned forward and gave Santana a quick peck on the mouth, catching her off guard. Just like that, the girl was waving goodbye and heading down into the station. Santana remained there; somewhat dazed with the buzzing from her lips, and watched Brittany leave… until her bobbing golden blonde head was lost to the sea of commuters.

Immediately, Santana missed her.

* * *

Because of Kurt's dramatic neediness, Santana managed to avoid discussing her upcoming date that night. They spent the majority of Saturday evening watching _Sex and the City DVDs_ and deciding who was which character. Rachel ended the fun though when she became bitter over the fact that Kurt and Santana dubbed her the uptight Charlotte when she considered herself to be a free-spirited Carrie. She pouted for a good twenty minutes before hiding her complete series collection boxed set under the couch while they were getting some wine. Thus, they were forced to choose from Kurt's DVDs instead (which were mostly movies involving shirtless hunky men, oddly enough).

Santana lay on the couch as they put on some shitty romantic comedy, despite her arguing against it. She was outnumbered in the voting process, since Kurt and Rachel both voted for the movie with the hottest guy in it. Instead of watching whatever mess was on screen, she just zoned out, worrying about the date the next day and trying to keep her head from focusing on Brittany. She failed miserably. They'd been exchanging cute texts all day, much like they did while they were together. Santana hated to admit it… but she loved the gooey, sappy feeling that came over her body when she read a sweet message from the other girl.

Santana tried to keep that feeling with her all evening. She wrapped it around herself like a blanket, one that shielded her from constant worry. She had waited six long months to have Brittany back in her life. The blonde had made it more than clear that she was ready for whatever obstacles might arise that would come with working towards being friends. A date with Audrey would be casual and fun… and enlightening, hopefully. But she wasn't really thinking of the strawberry blonde pixie she would be meeting at the independent "artsy" theater in SoHo the next evening; she was busy thinking of another blonde instead.

* * *

Santana was surprisingly chipper Sunday morning. She had slept better than she had in a long time. Her bed smelled like Brittany (which prompted her to make good use of her left hand that night while surrounded by the scent) and she knew that the blonde was a few miles away at any moment, possibly thinking of her.

Kurt wasn't up when she got to the kitchen. Rachel was perched at the stove, making pancakes oddly enough. She chirped a good morning before setting a plate of the hot cakes in front of Santana. "Here," she stated softly before heading to the fridge to get the butter and syrup.

Santana stared down at the plate for long moments before suspiciously glancing at Rachel. "Who are you and what have you done with my roommate?" she teased before covering her stack with the sticky sweet maple syrup that had been placed in front of her. Rachel said nothing in reply and then seated herself at the opposite side of the table. "Um… as much as I love having you watch me eat and all, Rach," Santana mused, diving into the breakfast, "you're creeping me out."

Rachel sighed and clasped her hands on the table. "I want to talk to you," she started sincerely. "We've been dealing with Kurt and his break up and being there for him. I can't help but to wonder if you need someone to be there… for you right now," the girl pointed out gently.

Santana furrowed her brows in between bites. "Be there for me? What are you talking about?"

Rachel watched her roommate eat quietly while choosing her words. "Santana, Brittany has reappeared in your life after six months… you don't think that's something you might need to talk about?" The color dropped from Santana's face while Rachel pushed on. "What's going on with you? How does it make you feel? Talk to me."

Santana set her fork down gently and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't know, Rachel. How would it make you feel if Finn showed up after months apart and wanted to be in your life again?" She made firm, unyielding eye contact with the other girl. "Would you drop everything to be with him again? Would you let the past alone and move forward? What would you do?"

Rachel's eyes didn't falter. "While I would want Finn back in my life and I'd want to be with him again, I would want to make sure that I was emotionally ready for all that. I miss him, every day, but I have a life here," she thought aloud. "I care about him, but I would want an adjustment period. I couldn't just _be_ with him unless the situation was right. Does that make sense?"

Santana nodded. "Yes, it does, Rachel. Brittany is back in my life but I don't know… where we stand yet when it comes to being an _us_. We talked about it last night and this morning, we decided to work on our friendship before putting pressure on us to be anything more."

"That's smart," Rachel inserted, getting up from the table. She went to the coffee pot and poured two mugs, passing one to Santana. "I think that the foundation of a good relationship is a good friendship first. It is probably the best thing to just test the waters first… see how it feels to be back in one another's lives before you do anything more." She set down a small sugar dish and the creamer in front of Santana. "I want you to know that I'm here for you. You can talk to me about her. I was always a big fan of you two. I don't think I ever saw you as happy during high school as when… when you were with her… and out and open."

Santana fell silent at this, spooning some sugar into the cup Rachel had given her. "Thanks," she finally whispered. She didn't come out and say it, but it was obvious that she agreed with her roommate's statements. "I am just torn. You and Kurt both said before that you would immediately want to be with Finn and Blaine if they moved here. I mean, I feel the same way about Britt—but I'm worried that if we just jump into things again, we'll move too fast and ruin it."

"You've been apart for a while. It's perfectly normal to want to ease back into things. God knows, you've waited for her. She should be able to wait until everything between you two is settled," Rachel pointed out. "I love Brittany, I do. But she did certain things that I don't necessarily agree with. As your friend and roommate, I never liked sitting awake at night and listening to you cry while you thought about her."

Santana's head shot up. "You heard me crying?"

Rachel faltered. "Um… sometimes it was hard to ignore. But that's no worse than hearing Kurt talk in his sleep."

"Or the buzzing of your vibrator," Santana pointed out.

Rachel swallowed awkwardly, blushing. "Moving on," she continued, "even though you never verbally told us about how upset you were, Kurt and I still shared in it. So I know how difficult this must be. It's like… starving. You can't just eat until you fill your stomach to fix the problem—that will make you sick. You have to consume food in small increments and get used to it again. God…that's a horrible analogy- but it's the same with you and Brittany. You want to dive in and… _eat as much as you can_," Rachel noted, trying not to chuckle at this double entendre, "but then something bad might happen. You have to slowly reintroduce her into your system."

It made sense, Santana had to admit. "I agree, Rach. We've talked about seeing how we fit into one another's lives again already. But then we made out on my bed yesterday morning."

Rachel almost spit out her coffee. "You made out already? Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously," Santana sighed. "We were talking and I kissed her wrist... forgetting that I shouldn't anymore. It must have ignited something because it just happened."

"What… what was it like? Did it feel like it always did?" Rachel questioned, trying not to pry but failing miserably.

"It was…" Santana pictured the kiss in her mind again, "perfect. It was like finding a lost piece of yourself… but you didn't know how much you'd missed it until that very moment. It was like… my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one kiss. It was _fireworks_."

Rachel sighed at this, a silly grin creeping onto her face. "I haven't seen you look so… genuinely happy…in forever, Santana," she carefully mentioned. "Did you guys talk about it after it happened?"

Santana nodded, taking a bite of pancake. "We both knew we needed to slow things down. I—I held her last night as we fell asleep. It was like I was dreaming. I couldn't believe it was happening. I never realized how empty I felt until she came back."

"I'm happy for you, I really am," Santana smiled, reaching across the table to pat Santana's hand. "As long as you work out your issues, build back your trust and your friendship, and not rush things."

"Thanks, mom," Santana groaned, swatting Rachel's hand playfully. The other girl paused awkwardly for a brief second.

"What about…" Rachel stammered momentarily, "what about Audrey? You said Friday that you had a date with her."

"Yeah, you asked me about it while we were drinking," Santana commented, "right before you told Brittany that I pined away while I corked-up my emotions and cried for her every night."

Rachel blushed and looked ashamed. "Sorry about that. I drank a lot."

Santana rolled her eyes. "It's fine. I'm not mad. I do bottle things up- it's true. I'm trying to work on that—which is why I'm sitting here talking to you instead of telling you to fuck off."

The other girl seemed to like this answer. She grinned cheekily. "Well thanks. But seriously… what about Audrey?"

"I have a date with her tonight."

"Even though Brittany is back?"

"She's the one who told me to go out with her, Rachel," Santana murmured, running her fingers along the rim of her coffee cup. "She didn't want me to stop doing what I was doing just because she moved to New York. She didn't want me to stay home and not go—she didn't want me to have any doubts about what I want."

"That's awfully mature of her," Rachel replied, sipping from her cup.

"It is… but I still have this part of me that worries about Brittany moving on again. If I date Audrey and Brit decides not to wait around for us to work stuff out… I don't know what I'll do. I feel like I'm always running the risk of losing her. I don't have to just fret about her finding some new chick… she dates guys too. I have to worry about her finding someone better and I have both genders working against me."

"Stop it, Santana," Rachel firmly stated. "Brittany came to New York. She moved into her dorm and immediately got a hold of Quinn to get _your_ address. She braved the foreign, confusing subway and made it all the way here—only to wait _two hours_ for you to come home. You don't do that for someone you don't care about."

Santana's mouth dropped open. "Wait…what?"

"Brittany told me all that Friday, while we were waiting for you to get off work. She did all that so she could see you. She applied to New York schools so she could come here because _you_ were here. I can't get Finn to do _anything close_ to that and Blaine came to the city only to dump Kurt immediately," Rachel spouted off. "So don't give me some pity party speech about worrying about losing her. You're not going to lose her again. She is going to be here while you guys figure things out and work through your bullshit. She owes you guys that much—and you owe her that too."

"Damn, Rachel," Santana muttered, shocked at her roommate's forceful outburst.

"And another thing," Rachel continued, picking up speed, "you _do_ need to go out with Audrey, just once if anything. You genuinely liked her, or at least thought you did, before Brittany showed up. You owe it to yourself to go out with her to see what it's like out there in the dating world. If you like her and you two go out but the possibility of an eventual relationship with Brittany means more—then you'll have a better understanding of your feelings at least. You'll be able to have some sort of other experience to compare how Brittany makes you feel to—instead of just some random chick you made out with at a club."

"You have a good point," Santana admitted. "I'm meeting Audrey at six outside the Art House in SoHo."

"Well, Kurt and I will help you look super sexy for your date… and we'll both be here to help you sort through what happened afterwards," Rachel assured her.

A dopey smile spread across the Latina's face. Santana couldn't help it—that soft side was coming out because Rachel's kind offer and genuine care about her well being. "Rachel, I'm… I'm glad you're my roommate and that we're friends now."

The girl opposite of her just returned her grin and patted her hand again. "I know, Santana…. I love you, too."

* * *

While waiting for her stop, Santana pulled her light jacket around her shoulders tighter and focused on remaining upright so she didn't bump into the scary looking homeless guy on the subway next to her. The high-heeled boots she was wearing didn't help much as she clung to the overhead horizontal metal bar above her to steady herself. She could feel strangers' eyes on her and her skintight jeans as she stood felt, almost on display much to her chagrin. She had tried to get dressed up for her date with Audrey but forgot that she'd have to endure the subway trip to SoHo in her nice clothes. Briefly, she wished she'd worn one of Rachel's midwestern sister-wife dresses or even borrowed a trench coat from Kurt. Instead she was in her boots and skinny jeans with a low cut black top and a gray canvas jacket to complete the outfit. She made sure not to dip over when jostled by the moving train, as to not give other patrons a free glance at her rack.

If she hadn't been sure of going before, she sure as hell was now. She had endured Rachel and Kurt picking out her outfit, stocking her purse with mints and fawning over her all afternoon. Kurt handled the idea of Santana's date rather well, though being dumped the day before. Playing stylist, painstakingly applying her makeup and fixing her hair had given him something to do rather than wallow in his own misery, Santana reasoned. The result was worth it though; she did look incredible.

The subway dinged and a voice announced the arrival at her stop. She exited the train quickly and headed through the crowd to the surface, taking care not to get bumped and clutching tightly to her purse all the while. Soon she was on the street and taking sure strides towards the theater. She was several minutes early but worried that if she didn't see Audrey soon, she'd loose her nerve and bail. Santana had vowed to clear her mind of any thoughts of Brittany or the promise of a future with the blonde for the entire duration of time she was here with Audrey. It wasn't fair to be there if she wasn't really there, she told herself.

Santana was the first there she discovered once she reached the theater. She bought two tickets for the Miranda July movie and stood there, hands in her pockets, waiting anxiously for her date. She thought about texting Audrey, just to see where she was, but decided against it. She was letting fate play out tonight. If she had a great time, then she had a great time. It didn't mean that she and Brittany couldn't work on being friends or they were doomed to be apart forever. It just meant that she was living her life. She sighed and tried to remind herself to be present, to be here at this very moment and enjoy the evening.

Soon, she spotted Audrey approaching her from half a block away. The girl was wearing a pair of skinny-legged jeans and a purple top with a gray cardigan over it. Her purple ballet flats completed the ensemble and Santana had to admit, she looked rather cute. Audrey's face broke out into a smile as she spotted the brunette and she gave a shot, awkward wave.

"Hey," she greeted as she reached Santana. She pulled the brunette into a short hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

Santana said hello back as she tried to gauge how her body reacted to the kiss but Audrey was already engaging her in conversation.

"I'm so excited we're doing this," Audrey admitted, shyly linking their arms together. "I looked forward to this date all weekend."

Santana gave a small smile at this. Had she been looking forward to this date too? Her first response was no—she'd been too absorbed in Brittany since Friday night to really give it much thought. But she wasn't supposed to be thinking of that now. "Sure," she just answered, pulling the tickets out of her pocket. "I bought these already."

"Aw how sweet of you," Audrey chirped, squeezing Santana's arm tighter. "I'll buy the popcorn then."

They made small talk as they waited in line for the concession stand. Audrey was starting classes tomorrow. She told Santana all about the courses she was taking and how excited she was for her upcoming Women and Gender in Literature class this semester. She talked about how she was sorry the summer was over, but she liked school so it didn't bother her. She mentioned that she'd miss seeing Santana every day for lunch, but that she hoped they'd still make time to see one another. She asked how Santana's weekend went and how the Ghost Story album was coming along. She ordered the popcorn and soda for the both of them and paid with a smile, being courteous and thoughtful.

Audrey was doing everything that you were supposed to be doing on a first date, Santana noted, but the spark that she'd once felt towards this lovely girl was just… different now. She couldn't explain what about their interactions felt more strained, but somewhere inside she suspected that the change was coming from her end. Audrey was acting like her normal, chipper self. Santana felt like she was wading through mud and her mouth was slow to respond to anything said to her.

They found their seats and Audrey continued to make conversation while Santana worked to listen. Thankfully the movie started before Santana was asked to say much. She sipped her drink and watched the shapes moving on the screen. She felt Audrey's fingers meet hers occasionally while they both reached for popcorn. She sensed the other girl's nerves as a hand snaked out and found hers midway through the film. She held Audrey's hand and tried to decipher what was going on inside her own head. Despite her promises to live in the moment, Santana knew she was failing miserably and all the while wishing she were holding someone else's hand. It made her feel guilty—first dates weren't supposed to feel like this.

When the movie ended a while later, Santana couldn't have rehashed the plot if she tried. She had completely checked out for the entire thing, she realized as the lights came on overhead.

Audrey was wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "What did you think, Santana? That ending was so sad," she admitted, stretching and standing up.

Santana nodded dumbly. "I know… I can't believe… that happened…"

Audrey cocked her head at her date. "You didn't cry at that? Even when the mother died of cancer?"

"Um," Santana mumbled, trying to come up with something to explain away her lack of tears, "I just don't cry much. But it sure was sad." Audrey seemed to accept this as a viable excuse and grabbed Santana's hand again, leading them out of the theater. Once they were outside, the girl smiled, squeezing Santana's hand tightly in hers. They stood there, beneath the marquee and waited for the other to talk first.

Audrey broke the silence with a sigh. "I had a great time, Santana. I would ask you to come over but I have class early tomorrow, is that alright?" she questioned. Santana worked to hide the relief on her face.

"No, that's totally fine. I had fun," she grinned. "But I don't want to keep you out late. You have to get your education, you know?"

Audrey nodded at this, agreeing silently and finally took a step closer. They were so close that Santana could see the goose bumps rising on the other girl's neck. "Maybe we could do this again. Can I call you?" Santana just nodded. Audrey threw her arms around the brunette's neck and held her tightly for a few seconds before pulling away. "Alright. I'll talk to you soon?"

Santana nodded. The other girl looked like she was about to go her separate ways, their evening apparently being over and all. There were so many questions swirling in her head though. The date hadn't yielded the concrete answers that Santana had been worrying about all night. She needed something else to help determine how she was feeling about Audrey. As the girl turned to leave, Santana stopped her.

"Wait," she stated, grabbing a hold of the girl's hand and pulling her back. Santana took a deep breath and then leaned in, kissing Audrey slowly. The girl immediately grasped at the back of Santana's head, urging her to mingle their mouths together deeper and harder. The kiss was sensual and warm and enjoyable, Santana realized, but there was something more to it. There was something missing. When she finally detached her lips from Audrey's, she saw the other girl's eyes were closed. They flickered open slowly, green irises peering into her own. They weren't the right color, Santana lamented; they weren't the blue ones she was looking for. She forced a smile onto her face and stepped back. "Have a good night."

Audrey grinned widely and winked at Santana. She nodded and then turned with a spring in her step and began walking away. Santana observed as the girl turned back once just to glance at her again, before disappearing down the street.

Santana stood there, watching her leave, and felt more confused than ever.

* * *

Kurt and Rachel were packing their matching NYADA tote bags with their supplies for the first day of classes when Santana arrived home. She found them pouring over their various itemized checklists and making sure their leotards were safely stowed away for the next day.

"If I even so much as _see him_ there tomorrow," Kurt was announcing animatedly, obviously in better spirits than before, "I'm going to just ignore him. Blaine 'Man Slut' Anderson cannot come to _our_ school and pretend like he can take it over _like he took over Glee club_. He's going to figure out pretty soon that not everyone will fawn over him at a school where future Tony Award winners are a dime a dozen."

All the conversation ceased when they heard Santana shut the sliding metal door behind them and enter the kitchen with her heels clicking on the poured cement floor. Their heads jointly swiveled and found her discarding her jacket over the backs of one of the chairs at the table. She didn't look as happy as they expected her to look.

"Santana, hey!" Rachel greeted, leaving her tote on the coffee table to beckon the girl to the couch between her and Kurt. "Come sit! We want to hear all about your date!" Santana put a hand on the back of the chair and used it as support to take off her boots. She left them on a pile on the floor before flopping down amid her roommates.

"My date? It was fine," Santana admitted, putting her feet up on the coffee table and crossing her ankles. Her body sunk down further into the seat. She vaguely wished she could just be absorbed into the cushion so she could avoid rehashing the details of her evening. "We met outside the theater. I bought the tickets and she got the popcorn. The movie was…" she trailed off, not quite knowing what to say. "I don't know how it was, actually. I think I spent the whole time I was sitting there thinking about… about Brittany."

Kurt and Rachel were both silent. They exchanged a knowing glance over the top of Santana's head without articulating what they were both thinking. They knew that once Brittany was back, no one else would ever measure up to how Santana felt about her. She was _always_ going to own the exclusive rights to Santana Lopez's heart and soul. A date with Audrey only seemed like a good idea when Brittany was out of the picture. Now that the blonde was back in the frame, there just wasn't room for anyone else.

"So, you didn't feel the chemistry with Audrey?" Rachel asked, rubbing Santana's shoulder comfortingly. The brunette just sighed again.

"I _thought_ that I liked her," Santana muttered, "but the whole date just dragged on. I couldn't pay attention to anything she was saying. I'm sure I came off like a total asshole because I just sat there and nodded along with her. I mean, we watched the movie and held hands… but I didn't feel anything. I kissed her at the end of the date and…"

"And?" Kurt and Rachel both squeaked simultaneously.

"And there were no fireworks. I felt some sort of a reaction because I was kissing a good-looking woman and I'm attracted to women-but I didn't feel anything _because of the specific woman I was kissing_. Does that make sense?"

Kurt patted her thigh. "Of course it makes sense. Things didn't pan out with Audrey like you thought they would. Sometimes that happens. Sometimes you _think_ that you're going to get married on top of a beautiful mountain in an Armani tuxedo with tails and shiny leather shoes to a great guy with thick eyebrows but then he ends up a lying shit who wants to fuck his roommate…" he trailed off, making things about himself again. He snapped back to attention. "The point is: do you think your enjoyment of the date, particularly the company, was impacted by Brittany's arrival in the city?"

Santana grew silent at this. "I would by lying if I said no," she admitted. "We agreed to take things slow… but it is almost impossible when I've had an intimate relationship with Britt for years. I've been in love with her ever since I can remember."

"Do you think that this less-than-stellar date with Audrey answered those questions you had," Rachel wondered, treading carefully with the topic, "about whether you were missing out on experiences by being with only Brittany? Do you worry you're going to wake up one day and regret not dating more?"

"Honestly? No. I could date all the girls in New York and I'd really only be thinking about one particular blonde," Santana answered firmly. "I know what my heart wants… what it's always wanted… and it's always been Brittany without a doubt."

"So what happens now?" Kurt asked her, smoothing out the back of her hair with a loving hand. "Are you going to see Audrey again? Are you going to tell Brittany that you want to get back together?"

Santana shook her head. "Brittany and I have a lot of stuff to work out before we can move forward. And Audrey?" She paused, shaking her head finally. "I can't see her when I would only be going through the motions. That's not fair for her. My heart isn't in it."

"Because you love Brittany," Rachel reminded her quietly. "You two will fix your issues… you'll see."

Santana must have been moved by their kind words. She didn't even protest when they both enveloped her in a roommate hug. She just pretended to be annoyed and embraced them back, just as fiercely.

* * *

Brittany's first week of school was a blur. She had been from dance class to dance class, gotten an extremely hectic schedule, and almost slept through an Intro to Motion lecture in a span of a couple of days. Once she got used to the layout of the buildings and remembered to bring all her of supplies, she was fine. She was finally enrolled in classes that she enjoyed. She never cared much for math and such, but she listened enrapt when it came to the way ligaments worked or the history of ballet. That was mostly her problem in high school: McKinley's course load didn't exactly appeal to her so she had trouble paying attention. However, even after a few days at Juilliard, she felt more invigorated to learn than she had her entire life thus far.

Given how quickly her college experience had started, she'd had little time to see Santana that first week. They had texted back and forth, but Santana had been working late on an album and had been unable to talk for long. Brittany had no idea how Santana's date with Audrey went, whether or not she'd had a good time, or even if they were going to go out again. It was remarkable how, after being apart for six full months, going five days without seeing the brunette felt like torture.

When Kurt texted her Friday afternoon and asked her to meet them in Central Park after her classes, she readily agreed. She left to join them as soon as her classes finished, looking forward to an evening spent with friends. She had met people at Juilliard so far, but none of them were friendly enough for her to hang out with yet. She'd also won the dorm lottery and gotten a single room so she didn't even have a roommate to interact with. Brittany didn't entirely mind that, given the horror story of Blaine and the dancer guy. The last thing she wanted was some roommate for Santana to get jealous over- or a terrible and socially awkward one like Quinn had. Brittany vowed to not let anything get in the way of rebuilding their friendship and spending more time together.

Santana must have gotten off work early, Brittany realized, when she spotted the brunette sitting with Kurt and Rachel from a distance. She'd figured that Santana would have joined them later, assuming that the girl would be busy given the importance of the Ghost Story record. Brittany had to admit she was pleasantly surprised to see her, long legs spread out and crossed and an amused smirk on those lovely lips.

The three of them were arguing when Brittany finally approached them. More accurately, Kurt and Rachel were complaining as Santana sipped from a red solo cup and ignored them. Brittany had no idea what they were even talking about at first.

"The fact that they put him in a sophomore level jazz class is ridiculous," Kurt was seething, downing the rest of the contents of his own cup. "He's _not_ a good dancer. He has the rhythm of a paraplegic… no offense Artie Abrams wherever you are."

"I know, I know," Rachel comforted him, offering a small plate of cheese and crackers. "He only seems to know how to do that ridiculous twirl move. It doesn't make sense. Just ignore him and remember that he's a horrible person, ok?"

"Blaine talk?" Brittany interrupted, seating herself in between Santana and Rachel. The Latina immediately snapped to attention, grinning widely and pulling her into a long, fierce hug. "Sorry, I'm late. I had to shower after dance class."

"No worries," Santana inserted, pouring Brittany a cup of wine and handing it to her. "I'm so happy to see you. How was your first week of classes?" Brittany accepted the cup thankfully. She could barely take her eyes off of Santana. The girl looked positively mouth-watering in a pair of dark grey dress pants with a red top and heels (which were discarded off to the side of the blanket). Santana noticed Brittany staring at her outfit. She gestured to it. "Just got out of work. I cut out early to meet these dummies, but they just keep complaining about Blaine endlessly."

Brittany just laughed. "Don't apologize—you look really good. Anyway, the first week of classes was great. I like school when it involves topics that I enjoy."

"Kurt and Rachel feel the same way," Santana joked, "which is why Lady Hummel is getting an A+ in _Hand Jobs 101_ and Rachel is passing her course on _being obsessed with old Broadway hags_ with flying colors."

Kurt rolled his eyes at the comment while Brittany snickered. Rachel ignored the biting remarks and turned her attention to the blonde again. Before she could ask more about Brittany's classes, Santana's phone starting ringing. They all watched as Santana glanced at the caller before shutting the ringer off.

"Santana Lopez," Kurt stated firmly. "That is the _fifth_ _call_ in the past _two days_, isn't it? Would you stop being such a baby? Just call the poor girl back and put her out of her misery." Santana shot him a nasty look at that comment.

Brittany cocked her head. "What're you talking about, Kurt?"

"I can answer that," Rachel interjected before he could say anything else. "Santana is ignoring a certain female caller because she doesn't have the resolve to tell the poor girl that she doesn't want to go out with her again."

Brittany's head turned to look at Santana. "Are they talking about Audrey?"

Santana sighed and nodded, looking sheepish. "Um… yeah. We went out on Sunday and I haven't… called her back yet."

"Because you don't want to see her again?" Brittany questioned, confused. "I thought you were all excited about the date. Kurt and Rachel told me you'd been pining after her for months before you asked her out last Friday."

Santana shrugged. "I thought I was interested. But it turns out that…she wasn't… what I was looking for." Brittany's face grew warm at this. She tried not to infer that _she_ might be the reason why Santana wasn't interested in pursuing anything with Audrey.

"Well," Brittany started, trying to form a sentence that didn't sound like she was unbelievably excited at the possibility that Santana didn't want someone else, "you should tell her if you don't want to go out again. It is just unkind to ignore her. Imagine if she did that to you—you would be more hurt by that then by her ending things."

"I think you should meet her face to face to tell her," Rachel advised. "Breaking things off over the phone is tacky. Texting 'this isn't working' or something is just atrocious. Meet her for coffee and let her down gently." Santana just sat there quietly, absorbing their words apparently.

"You could tell her that work is picking up and you're just too busy to date anyone… or something like that," Brittany offered.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Or you could just tell her that you want to work things out with your ex and stop beating around the bush," he muttered offhandedly.

"Fuck, Kurt," Santana snapped, throwing a cracker at him. "Shut up." She shot a bashful look at Brittany, who was blushing furiously.

"What? _I'm the only one being honest here_. Maybe my recent break up has given me total relationship clarity because it's totally obvious that you two are kidding yourselves if you think you're just going to be friends and nothing more," Kurt argued, drinking more wine. "Call the poor girl, quit bullshitting her and yourselves, and get on with it."

Santana avoided Brittany's eyes, not quite sure if she wanted the blonde to know how accurate Kurt's words were. Finally, she looked from Kurt to Rachel before letting out a groan. "Fine," she muttered, standing up. She brushed some grass from her pants before glaring at Kurt and striding off to make her phone call.

Standing a few feet away, Santana unlocked her phone and searched the contacts list briefly before locating Audrey's number. She paused, staring down at the digits, ready for her to push the call button. Part of her felt bad that she was about to crush Audrey's feelings… part of her was just nervous about what being totally and completely single would mean. It would become increasingly harder to stay away from Brittany once she had no reservations keeping them apart. Focus on friendship, Santana reminded herself before forcing her index finger down to initiate the call.

Audrey picked up after two rings.

"Hey stranger," she remarked, sounding entirely too happy that Santana was calling her. It only made the brunette feel worse. "What are you up to? I haven't heard from you since Sunday. I was staring to get a little nervous."

Santana cleared her throat and tried to sound more enthusiastic than she actually was. "Yeah sorry… work has gotten really hectic lately. Um, I was wondering if you wanted to meet for coffee so we could talk… and stuff." She shuffled uncomfortably while speaking and glanced back at the picnic blanket behind her. Santana didn't like the idea of hurting anyone but when she got one look at Brittany sitting here, sunlight catching her blonde hair and illuminating her perfect everything, she knew that Audrey didn't stand a chance.

"Coffee? I'd love to. Can we meet tomorrow? I have this meeting at the student union tonight for my book club," Audrey readily agreed. "I can do something around 2 if you want."

"That sounds fine," Santana forced her mouth to say, "just fine." They finalized the details and she hung up the phone, but not before Audrey mentioned how much she was looking forward to their coffee date. Santana had to steel her nerves and mumbled something like "me too" before getting off the line. With that settled she was free to go back to hanging out with Brittany. That was something that actually made her smile genuinely.

Santana trotted over to the blanket, settling herself back down next to Brittany. She peered at the blonde when blue eyes had settled on hers, asking her without words if everything went all right. Santana just nodded gently and picked her cup back up, downing the contents while trying to ignore the thoughts about tomorrow's conversation with Audrey.

Brittany could tell that it worried Santana and without thinking, found the brunette's hand next to hers and linked their pinkies. Neither one of them felt strange in the least, sitting there in the middle of Central Park with their fingers intertwined. In fact, it felt more natural than it probably should have, considering the circumstances. Even though it was only a week since Brittany arrived in New York, it was already evident that fitting back into one another's lives was inevitable.

With that simple hand motion, Brittany reaffirmed everything that Santana had been thinking: the passage of time and their torrid past had only tarnished the most superficial layers of their relationship. It was a like an antique painting, corroded so that the intricacies and true beauty of the masterpiece were buried under a coating of grime, placed there by time and circumstance. With the right tools and careful patience, the layers could be removed so the gem beneath could be revealed again. The true exquisite nature of the work of art could then be viewed and marveled over.

That was just like them. The more time they spent repairing what was broken, the stronger and more beautiful the end result would be. They both knew, somewhere inside, that what they had was worth the careful steps they now have to take. The love that bound them together was more than just some intangible ideal. They were the artists and this journey was their magnum opus.

* * *

Kurt was only half-listening to an exceedingly long anecdote about tap choreography that Rachel was going on and on about. He watched as Santana glanced down, acknowledging the linked pinkies that she and Brittany had poorly hidden away between their bodies. He saw Brittany's blush reach the top of her ears and turn her face a lovely crimson color, delicately offset against her blue eyes. Perhaps the blonde had thought that Santana might think that such an obviously intimate gesture would be too much too soon, but instead the brunette just smiled.

The shy grin that graced Santana's face was the most authentic sign of happiness that Kurt had seen from her in a long time. Brittany had only been in New York a week but her presence brought a tangible shift in the brunette. Her mentality had already changed from snarky bitch to malleable saccharine-sweet puppy with the reintroduction of the blonde into her life. The change was welcome, Kurt had to note, given that he and Rachel had gone several days without biting remarks being made about his gayface, her nose, or their combined lameness. He had realized long ago that Brittany had that very specific effect on Santana: she was able to bring out the sappy side of the brunette so easily that it was impressive. Whatever thing possessed Santana to lash out with her words when she felt threatened reduced to a mere shadow whenever the blonde was around.

Seeing the two girls reunited and still obviously quite smitten with one another briefly made Kurt sad. He thought back for a moment at how he and Blaine once had those same starry-eyed looks on their faces and silly grins on their mouths. But that had all soured now. That was gone. His grief over his lost relationship churned in his stomach, but then became something quite different. Somehow, Brittany and Santana sitting there, linking fingers like old times and trying to sneak glances at one another gave him an odd sense of hope.

They had broken up before, overcome seemingly insurmountable odds, made stupid decisions out of fear, and destroyed one another like only someone who loves you can. But here they were, still willing to try. They reminded him that they'd gone through all those things for the sake of their relationship and still somehow managed to emerge from the fire to find one another again. They weren't together though; Santana spent the week calmly explaining that they were "working things out" and "stabilizing their friendship". Her rehearsed words held no merit against what he saw before him.

They could never really just be friends again, Kurt knew even if they hadn't acknowledged it yet. They couldn't give everything of themselves to one another in the past and remain platonic now- especially when they still physically wanted one another. Their unspoken lingering glances and the need to touch each other's skin (no matter how small the grazes were, they still needed them) betrayed their secrets if one really cared to look. They had a hunger in their eyes that time hadn't lessened. It was a look that Kurt had seen exchanged between them many times at McKinley in the choir room, when they were pretending to just be friends and sex wasn't dating. It was the look Santana got when she had seen the picture of Brittany straddling Sam—lustful and possessive. Santana could never really belong to Audrey and Brittany could never really belong to Sam. It just couldn't happen when they still belonged to one another, whether or not they had discovered it yet. Maybe that was what the needed to take time to uncover, Kurt mused. Maybe they had to figure out just now much of them were missing when the other wasn't around. Maybe they just had to do things this way, not just to find out where they stood with one another—but to also so that they could relearn how to trust the other with so much of themselves.

Kurt watched Santana flick a blade of grass from where it had attached itself to Brittany's thigh. The blonde tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with the hand that wasn't attached to Santana's and then smiled gratefully. They could fool themselves, but they weren't fooling anyone else. No matter the reasoning behind their slowed approach towards one another, they could only pretend for so long that their destiny wasn't one that involved them resuming their relationship exactly where they'd left it.

Something crept over Kurt once he detached himself from enviously watching Brittany and Santana trying to pretend like they weren't still madly in love with one another. His gaze widened and he saw Rachel offering the other girls cheese and crackers. Santana made a wise-ass comment about the food being kosher and Brittany pinched her arm near the elbow, causing the brunette to groan and then begrudgingly thank Rachel for the snacks. Santana untangled her pinky from the blonde's to accept some of the food and as she placed some cheese and crackers on a plate for Brittany, Kurt was struck with the weirdest sense of déjà vu.

It was crazy. They had never been to Central Park all together like this. They'd all been to the park during the Nationals trip before—but they never picnicked here. It suddenly occurred to him that this, in this moment, was his fantasy come true. He'd talked about it at such length before with his roommates that he couldn't believe that it had taken him so long to realize it had come true. There they were, sipping wine out of cheap cups and eating finger food on a checkerboard blanket. It was so close to what he'd pictured in his head that it was almost eerie. Goosebumps broke out on his arms and he shivered involuntarily. His vision was so accurate that it astounded him. And he had definitely been right all along: Brittany was always a part of it. She'd been there in the fantasy and she was here now. She had a niche saved for her before she even knew that she would be coming to New York for school. This wasn't coincidence that all of it had come true, Kurt reasoned. It was _supposed_ to be like this. It was oddly ok somehow that Blaine wasn't a part of this dream becoming a reality. It hurt now, but he'd get over it. Here he was, sitting with his friends and living life in the big city, just like he'd imagined. He wouldn't change any of it.

* * *

Santana was a far more proficient at the art of breaking up than she wanted to be. During her years of playing straight, she had done her fair share of "_yeah we hooked up but I'm not into you so this isn't working_" speeches. It was just easier before coming out to pretend like it was ok to do things without feelings and then cut and run when the guy got too attached. Those break ups didn't bother her because she didn't really care about who she was hurting because she was hurting so much inside anyway. In truth, the only relationship-ending conversation that she regretted was in the choir room when she had embellished that "energy exchange" to free Brittany of the chore of waiting for them to be together.

Sitting there at the coffee house waiting for Audrey filled her with anxiety. She didn't like knowing that she was going to have to hurt the girl. If there were no Brittany, maybe things would be different. _But there was a Brittany_. Brittany had broken up with Trouty, moved to New York and wanted to work on things… and that changed everything.

Santana played with the cardboard sleeve on her coffee cup and ignored the urge to leave. She couldn't, she already knew. She couldn't move forward with Brittany—to wherever they were going—without having a serious discussion with Audrey to let her down gently.

The bell above the door to the coffee place jingled and Santana looked up, catching the eye of the girl who had just entered. She easily recognized the pixie-haired Audrey and her stomach lurched in her chest. She waved her over and slid the coffee she'd bought her across the table.

"Hey you," Audrey greeted her, sitting down and glancing at the drink placed before her. "You bought me a coffee?"

Santana shrugged, sipping at her cup. "Well… you've been making me coffees for a while now so I thought it was fitting that I finally got you one." She avoided the look of adoration in Audrey's eyes at the simple gesture.

The girl sipped the drink and her eyebrows rose. "You knew my favorite flavor! Aww, that's so sweet of you." Santana forced a smile and briefly thought of how easy it would be with Audrey. She could just begin over again with their relationship and it would be so simple to do things right from the start. She wouldn't have to hurt Audrey by pretending like they weren't together… or convince her that sex wasn't dating… or be terrified to have to come out to anyone.

But that's not what she wanted.

Being with Brittany had never been easy, if she was being honest. Their relationship had always involved hardship, mostly caused by Santana herself. They struggled to deal with hiding what they were feeling and then the slow arduous process of coming out to family members and peers. But in the end, the actual _being with Brittany _part made everything worth it. No matter how shitty everything got, Santana had always relied on the knowledge that the blonde's strong, toned arms would wrap around her and everything would feel better. Brittany was so _good_ at being in a relationship that it compensated for how _bad_ Santana felt she was at them. When it all came down to it, Brittany made her want to work harder and be better than what she thought she was. Didn't the desire to grow into a better person for someone you love matter more than taking the easy way out? Santana was a champion at doing that… and she didn't want to be anymore.

"So my friend is hosting this party tonight off campus," Audrey started, catching Santana off guard, "and I wondered if you wanted to come with."

She had to do it and she had to do it now. "Listen, Audrey," she cleared her throat. "I need to tell you something."

Audrey's face faltered. "Oh… ok. Is everything ok?" she asked. Santana wished she wouldn't try to be so understanding.

"Work is really picking up and… I'm going to be really busy with the Ghost Story album," Santana began, trying to ignore Audrey's face and whatever expression might be showcased there. "I just don't think that it's a great idea for us to date when I don't have time to invest in anything right now."

"So you're telling me that you don't want to see me anymore?" Audrey stated, looking far less broken than Santana anticipated when they finally made eye contact.

The brunette nodded slowly. "The timing isn't right, Audrey. I'm sorry if you anticipated this going in another direction but… I just don't think this is going anywhere."

"Is this just about the album or is there something else?" Audrey suddenly asked, clasping her hands on top of the table. "I thought we had a good time last weekend and everything. I'm not being clingy—I'm just trying to figure out what happened."

Santana gnawed on her lower lip. "I'm going to be honest with you. Someone I wasn't expecting reappeared in my life and I feel like I owe it to myself to see where it goes."

"It's Brittany, isn't it?" Audrey remarked softly. Santana felt like she'd had the wind knocked out of her and remained silent, her eyes not meeting the other girl's. "You told me you'd gone through a hard break up with her when we first met, Santana. It would make sense that she would be the one to show up again."

"It's Brittany, yes," Santana finally replied. "She's going to Juilliard now and living in the city."

"And you still love her," Audrey noted from the look on Santana's face. They shared a long moment of silence before the brunette nodded slowly.

Santana anticipated anger or rude words. She expected that Audrey might accuse of her playing games or purposefully hurting her. She thought that the other girl might tell her to fuck off, honestly. But Audrey didn't do any of those things. In fact, she just studied Santana's face and then sighed.

"It's ok, I get it."

Santana furrowed her brows. "You… get it?"

"I get it. She's always going to be the first one who got through your barriers and laid claim to your heart. She will always have that advantage over anyone else. She's the… Lara to your Zhivago. Or the Elizabeth Bennett to your Mr. Darcy," Audrey smiled a moment. "Sorry, that's the Lit major in me talking. What I meant is... I can't compete against her and I get that. You're a really great catch, Santana. I hope you know that. I just hope that Brittany knows that too." Audrey stood up and straightened her shirt, before picking up the coffee cup. She smiled weakly again at Santana. "I hope things work out for you two. If not, you have my number."

With that, Audrey leaned in and kissed the brunette's cheek softly. Then she stood up, briefly composed herself and was gone.

Santana didn't turn to watch her leave. She just sat at the table and tried to decipher how she was feeling at that moment. She was a little sad that Audrey was gone, probably forever. They'd had some really great conversations and in theory, would have been good together. At the same time, Santana knew she had something better, something totally worth it, in Brittany. She looked forward to spending time with the other girl and rebuilding what they had before, but hopefully better and sturdier this time. She knew that Brittany was in this for the long haul and of all the people in her life, the blonde was the one person who truly knew her. Brittany already knew she was a catch, Santana realized, which is why she was still there.

When they were younger and still figuring out how they worked together, Santana had believed that she had built her entire life around Brittany. The blonde impacted every decision she made and held such a power over her that it was terrifying at times. Now, Santana was starting to realize that she possessed just as much power over the blonde, whether or not she had ever figured it out before. Brittany geared her college choices toward New York because that's where Santana was. She could only imagine that the blonde had spent weeks preparing for her Juilliard interview, knowing fully how much was really riding on it. Brittany broke up with Sam and spent the summer single, allowing time to get over things and ready herself to reenter Santana's life. Now she was here and telling Santana that they'd figure everything out, that she wasn't going anywhere, that she would work hard to show the brunette that they had something worth salvaging. Santana believed her. It would be worth it in the end… the things that required the most work always were.

* * *

Santana debated with herself as she sat on the train on the way back to Bushwick. She tried to decide how she'd broach the subjects with her roommates… and more importantly with Brittany. Should she give them the full story of what happened or a nicely abridged one? Should she admit that Audrey guessed that things wouldn't work because of the blonde? Should she feel bad that she was so unconcerned and transparent with what happened?

It took her a while to sort out what she was going to do. She spent the entire trip home thinking about it. It wasn't until she was taking slow steps towards the loft that she figured out whether or not she'd made the right choice in breaking things off in order to focus on other things. She was about a block away from their building when she spotted them: Kurt, Rachel and Brittany. They were sitting on the front stoop, crowded together on the concrete steps. It was a little late in the season to be enjoying popsicles, but they were anyway. Kurt and Rachel were doing lines from one of their one-act plays for Brittany as the blonde giggled away hysterically and listened to them, enrapt. When she was within range, Santana heard their exchange as a slow grin spread on her face.

"It was at this moment, the clever protagonist Santana was approached by a young woman at the bar, an establishment whose customer base consisted primarily of latent homosexuals," Kurt regaled in a loud, British accent. Santana found it a little confusing that he was using his Mr. Ericksberg voice for the narrator, but whatever, she thought. "The lady slid onto the barstool next to our heroine. _Do you fancy a cocktail?_ She asked…" Kurt did a high-pitched girl voice for this line, "and Santana replied with…"

Rachel stepped in here, her timing impeccable as always. "No, I couldn't possibly… this fine, articulate, talented and lovely young woman next to me with shining glossy brown hair and eyes as deep as pools of dark water… this beautiful Rachel is my life partner," Rachel firmly stated. "Now, be gone with you, you trollop."

Santana rolled her eyes, as she got closer to them, still avoiding detection. Kurt and Rachel loved telling this story so much, she mused, that they made it into a one-act. She should be flattered, but that would require admitting that she paid attention to their play in any capacity. When they'd performed it for her the first time, her only critique was suggesting a cast reversal so that Kurt played the Santana character so the girl wouldn't be praising herself in character—thoroughly annoying Rachel. Santana had shrugged and launched into a diatribe about why it was totally ridiculous that Rachel's _Santana_ voice came out like she was impersonating a gruff female lumberjack. Obviously, her roommate had not taken her constructive criticism into consideration.

Kurt's narrative picked up, finishing out the story just as Santana arrived in front of them. "Then, Santana, reaching out a shaky hand, touched fair Rachel's knee in order to emphasize her point. The other woman, rebuked in her advances, disappeared off into the night as the handsome and talented Kurt bought everyone a round. And they all lived happily ever after. The end." He and Rachel stood to bow- suddenly noticing Santana was standing there. Despite being the topic of the play, she still shook her head playfully and clapped along with Brittany.

"I think both of you took some creative licensing with your characters in that… especially with the heavy-handed adjectives that you use to describe the _Kurt_ and _Rachel_ characters," Santana mused, watching as her roommates took their seats again on the steps. They resumed eating their popsicles—like they hadn't just been caught reenacting that tragic night out. "Talk about embellishments… really, Rachel? You're still running with that _fine, articulate, talented and lovely young woman next to me with shining glossy brown hair and eyes as deep as pools of dark water _line? That's quite a stretch." She winked at Brittany as she teased, trying to force herself to ignore how amazingly sexy the blonde looked eating the Popsicle in front of her. The treat had melted somewhat and a trail of red liquid ran down Brittany's arm, dripping onto the concrete. Santana resisted the urge to grab the girl's wrist and clean up the stickiness with her tongue.

"Artists are allowed to take _some_ liberties for the sake of their art, Santana," Kurt interjected offhandedly. "We called you _clever_ in it—that's clearly only partially true." He clucked away to himself for a moment, savoring his own hilarity. Santana rolled her eyes again.

Rachel bit the end of her Popsicle off and looked nonplussed at Santana's comments. "We were merely keeping ourselves occupied on the stoop until you got home. I suggested doing the one-act about how Kurt was mistaken for a lesbian at the farmer's market last month. However, _someone_ refused, saying it was embarrassing enough the first time around without having to keep reliving it through performances," Rachel noted, gesturing with her head at Kurt—as if Santana wouldn't already have guessed he would be the one with the objection to that play. "But Brittany insisted on us doing one that involved you. So it was the gay bar one… or the other where you threw up on that guy's cowboy boots when you got seasick on the Staten Island Ferry. Anyway, how was your coffee date?"

Santana realized, as Rachel asked, that was no longer unsure of how she should react to breaking things off with. In fact, she knew exactly how she felt about what happened with Audrey. Looking at her two infuriating and endearing roommates and the beautiful blonde sitting there- like kids with their ice cream truck purchases- Santana realized that this was _exactly_ where she wanted to be. She belonged here, with all of them. She was glad that she broke things off with the other girl. Any free time she had in this crazy city, Santana wanted to spend with these three people, all of whom she loved dearly (maybe one more than the others).

She shifted on the balls of her feet and shrugged noncommittally. "It went fine. I told her that I just didn't see us going anywhere. She took it really well," Santana recounted, putting it as simply as she could. "We agreed that things were better this way."

Rachel and Kurt saw right through her words. They exchanged a knowing glance, figuring out immediately that Santana was completely invested in Brittany again. It didn't take a genius to see the look on her face as she glanced over at the blonde.

Brittany just smiled, turned and pulled an unopened Popsicle from the shadows of the building. "Here, San, I got you one," she offered, holding it out to the other girl. Santana took it gingerly from her and smiled. "I left it in the shade so it wouldn't melt so quickly. Sorry if it's a mess. It's your favorite flavor."

Santana shook her head again, ignoring Rachel and Kurt's eyes boring into her. She shuffled closer and seated herself on the step next to Brittany. She opened the wrapper to find the grape Popsicle was in fairly good shape. She began eating it happily. "Thanks, Britt," she grinned after a few bites. "What color is my tongue?" She stuck it out to show off its now purple hue. Brittany laughed and stuck hers out too; her tongue was a dark shade of red from the cherry flavoring.

They all fell into silence, finishing their Popsicles as dusk slowly settled down over the city. The sound of rush-hour traffic died down a little and they all watched as the sun sank lower behind the buildings that towered around them. Things felt strangely perfect—like they were all meant to be there, eating Popsicles together, at that very moment.

Santana smiled softly as she left Brittany's thigh settle against her own, filling her body with a buzzing energy. She let her shoulder nudge the blonde's gently, yielding a soft blush from the other girl's cheeks. They finally made it. They were in same city at the same time… and now were both completely unattached. Their future was uncertain, but now Santana knew for sure… they'd have one.

* * *

**NOW GO BE A CHAMP AND WRITE A REVIEW, OK?**


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

**Author's Note: **as always, thanks for the reviews. keep 'em coming and enjoy the chapter.

* * *

It was an inanimate object. It was cold and lifeless… the only real value it possessed was in the sentimentality assigned to it by someone. Other than that, it really didn't mean much. When the emotions placed upon it were removed, all that remained were the materials that constructed it. It was plastic and coating and paper and ink. They were meaningless until they were transformed into something else by organizing them in a way that gave them significance.

Peering down at it, Santana knew she shouldn't feel like so much of herself was in her hands. She shouldn't take as much credit for it as she did. But she couldn't help it. She ran her fingers delicately over the plastic surface and her heart thumped loudly in her chest. The finished record she held signified a chance at success, but also a whole slew of new things to worry about. She half wondered if she was ready for any of them.

So many people labeled her as useless or inconsequential- just like the materials assembled to create this thing she held. But she became something more. Without her, this simple object she was holding might not exist is the form it took now. It might look different, or sound different, or perhaps not exist at all. She really had no way of knowing. What she did know that was when she flicked through the booklet of paper inside the jewel case and spotted her name next to the _assistant executive producer_ title, her body filled with a pride that crackled around her like lightening. She had finally done something truly worthwhile and it felt… indescribable.

But being proud of the album was only the tip of the pressure-filled iceberg that she now found herself heading for.

Santana took the short moments she had before everything got hectic to savor this moment, not knowing how long it might last. She could hear the murmur of people gathering beyond the doors she was standing by and the pulse of music from the other room. So much had changed in her life since moving to New York—hell, since the beginning of fall, that it was crucial to just sit back for one second to properly pace her thrumming heart.

So she avoided the party for a minute. Santana seated herself on a stone bench facing out over the twinkling city. Setting the CD down next to her, she put her head into her hands and tried to remember how to breathe.

* * *

Honestly, Santana had very few instances of intense, overcoming pride that she'd experienced in her life to date. She was a staunch believer in relishing in one's successful moments—but such illustrations of her viewpoint had been truly few in number. She'd only ever felt overwhelmed by the weight of achievement two very significant times in her life.

Once, she'd felt it when she and the glee club had won Nationals in Chicago her senior year. She never thought she could be as happy as she was in the moment when the announcer called out the New Directions name and her friends around her burst into cheers. She had been immediately wrapped in hugs and congratulations. The sound around her had been almost deafening. She never thought she'd ever touch that level of pride again. She had been mistaken.

The other time, she felt that gratification when she saw pictures of Brittany graduating. As soon as her eyes fell upon the sight of the blonde walking across the stage at McKinley and accepting her diploma, Santana felt like she was blooming. She hadn't even been there for that moment, but she still felt the buzzing joy upon gazing at the images, filling with pride second-hand.

Now, though previous instances had been few and far between, Santana felt that pride again. The Ghost Story album was completely finished. The songs were done to near perfection. The cover artwork and insert booklet were visually polished and edited fully without mistake. She had worked so hard on this, for months now, that it seemed almost surreal that it was done. She had been locked away in the studio in since early May, slaving away with Travis the sound tech and the band, in order to produce the best possible result they could all possibly achieve.

Despite her somewhat biased views, Santana honestly thought the record was amazing. It wasn't just because she'd heard the songs almost every day, day in and day out, for a long time now—it was because they were relatable and catchy and well-crafted. Booth had agreed, after she'd presented him with the final album early October for a listen. They sat together, without talking, until the entire album had played through on the stereo in his office. When the disc ended, she waited with bated breath for his reaction. He remained silent for long minutes and drumming his fingers on the desk. Santana thought she might be dead in those moments.

He had finally gazed up at her, a twinkle in his eye. "Nice work, Lopez," he stated simply. He stood up from the desk and looked over the disc in his hand. "I think we're done here. I want to see a finished booklet mock-up by next Monday."

That was it. He'd liked the work she and the band had done. She was ecstatic.

* * *

Rachel and Kurt had taken her out to dinner that night to celebrate. They'd bought several bottles of cheap champagne to drink back at the loft as well. They toasted to her successes and congratulated her on finishing the album. Instead of making snarky comments and downplaying the achievement, Santana just smiled and accepted the lavished compliments she was receiving.

Their party didn't feel complete until Brittany showed up later, grinning like a mad woman and enveloping Santana in a long hug as soon as she'd arrived. She had been held up at the dance studio, preparing for some piece she had to perform for one of her classes; Santana was just happy that she'd made it at all. She never really felt completely validated in her successes until Brittany acknowledged them. It was a little needy to want your ex slash best friend to reaffirm your achievements, but Santana didn't care. There was something about the glint in Brittany's eye as she congratulated her, bringing their foreheads together intimately until they were sharing the same air—that made it all worth it. It was just another instance in which the lines between "over zealous best friend" and "love of your life" blurred in their relationship.

Since coming to the city, extended alone time with Brittany had been somewhat hard to come by, besides meeting for lunch once a week and handing out on weekends. The blonde was working diligently to avoid being crushed by the weight of her classes, the pressure of the dance company she was keeping, and the prestigious reputation of the school. It would have probably been unbearable had she not loved what she was doing, she'd explained to Santana one afternoon mid-October.

They met every Thursday for coffee and bagels at the fountain outside the Lincoln Center. Santana liked the location because it reminded her of frolicking with the glee club before Nationals junior year. It was close to Juilliard too, so it made it easier on Brittany to meet there. Santana always brought the coffee and bagels, taking pride in knowing the blonde's favorite of both (blueberry bagel and vanilla latte) and procuring them for her. They both knew that they'd have to find a different location for their meetings when it started to get colder, but for the time being, it worked.

She waited by the fountain every week with a paper bag from their favorite bagel place and a cup in her hand, like some loyal puppy. It was part of their process of working on becoming close friends again before they became lovers: spending time together without letting their deep, tangible sexual tensions interfere. So they drank coffee and laughed together—all the while avoiding situations that might allow their hormones to cloud their judgments. They tried to keep from extended bodily contact, aside from hugging and some light cuddling as well. As much as Santana wanted to pin Brittany down and make love to her, kissing every inch of the gorgeous blonde's lithe body—she refused to let herself. That was how they fucked everything up before, she remembered. They needed to understand their boundaries, with themselves and each other, and respect them until they could get to a place where they could take things a step further.

It wasn't easy to sit there and watch Brittany's perfect, pink mouth tell her all about how hot and sweaty she got in the dance studio—all the while imagining how slick she might have felt to the touch—without wanting to sink back into the familiarity they once shared. Santana wanted to be _with_ Brittany: in a relationship and physically and basically every other way she could be. But they weren't there yet. So she just listened to her talk and tried to ignore the throbbing she felt at the apex of her legs whenever the blonde tempted her with a smirk.

Interestingly enough, Santana found it difficult sometimes to differentiate between what "just friends" did and what "more than friends" did. For so long, it was completely normal to start a movie with Brittany and end it by fooling around on the couch. It was normal to have sleepovers that resulted in sex and cuddling. It was normal to kiss Brittany when she said goodbye after she walked her to the subway station at night, or they departed after their lunch dates, or whenever she felt like it. It took a while to realize that friends weren't _supposed_ to do those things. It had taken a rather harsh lesson from Kurt and Rachel to figure that out completely.

Santana had been sitting at the kitchen table sulking. The night prior, she and Brittany had been cuddling in the living room while watching a musical with the other roommates. Halfway through the movie, Santana had realized that her own hand, which had been resting next to her on the couch, was playing with the waistband of Brittany's underwear beneath her low-slung sweatpants. The brunette had blushed and pulled her hand away, apologizing quietly. She couldn't help but see the disappointment on the blonde's face, like she was let down that the ministrations against her skin had ceased.

"That's normal for me and Brit," Santana lamented, groaning as Rachel and Kurt exchanged a look. "It's so hard to remember what I am and am not supposed to touch on her. We've always been really… physical… with one another, even before we dated."

"Was that before or after you tried to convince her that sex wasn't dating," Kurt interjected, taking a seat opposite from her. "You know, so you could have your lesbian vagina cake and eat it too."

Santana had glared at him after this comment. "Not all of us are so flamingly gay that the burned-through closet door did the coming out for us, Lady Hummel," she'd remarked, crossing her arms over her chest. Kurt rolled his eyes and lifted one perfectly tweezed eyebrow at her as his rebuttal.

Rachel stepped in then, before another "_who was gayer_" argument broke out between the two of them. "Come on, you two. For the record, yes—Kurt is really… absurdly super gay. But you're pretty gay too, Santana. I mean, you sang a K.D. Lang song to the entire glee club that one time…" Her voice faltered when she encountered a vicious glare on Santana's face. "Um… still, we're here to help you differentiate between what _is_ and _is not_ ok touching when it comes to Brittany. May I just start by saying that I think it is very admirable that you're both working so hard to stay platonic friends without jumping into a relationship again? It is hard, I'm sure, but you obviously understand the fundamental importance of gaining one another's trust again and sorting through your differences, which is immensely important."

"I agree. And that being said," Kurt interrupted, "there's one very simple way to determine if your actions are friendly or more than that…"

"How?" Santana questioned, pressing him on.

"Whenever you get the urge to kiss Brittany's neck, or touch her thigh, or run your gay fingers along her arms or whatever—just think: _would I touch Rachel like that_?" He finished, grinning wide.

Santana made a disgusted face. "What the actual fuck, Kurt. That's an absolutely nauseating notion."

Rachel shrugged her shoulders. "As offensive as that is… he's got a point. We're _just friends_, right? If you wouldn't touch me the way you feel compelled to touch Brittany, than it is probably not something _just friends_ do."

Santana hated to agree with them.

* * *

Kurt's new favorite acronym, _WITRLT_, actually came in handy. The next movie night, Santana's hand went from the back of the couch of start softly rubbing Brittany's neck. However, Rachel's face caught her attention, looking disapprovingly at her hand. She briefly pictured her hand massaging Rachel's neck instead. The thought weirded her out so much that she retracted her arm and sat stiffly for the rest of the movie. Of course, Santana had shared exactly why she'd been grossed out and removed her hand with Brittany later. The blonde looked thoughtfully at her for a moment and then agreed that this was a good measure of what _was_ and _was not_ appropriate for them to do. Then they both delved into a conversation about how Rachel was undoubtedly a freak in bed and was hiding it so people didn't discover whatever weird fetish she was hiding.

Since then, they'd been following the guidelines religiously. Perhaps both of them were terrified of rushing anything or letting themselves sink too far into old patterns. The same path they'd been on only led to disaster, they'd discussed, so doing something differently would lead to varying results. By ignoring past problems and the insecurities they both had now, they could possibly misstep. They could wind up hurting one another again. That wasn't something either of them could stomach.

Despite the distance they kept with their bodies, they were growing closer. The reasons that lead to being best friends in the first place were still very strong and inviting. Brittany _got_ Santana and vice versa. There was a certain amount of apprehension at first, when the blonde had just moved to the city. They kept things from one another, little things like how much they'd pined for one another or details that were inconsequential in the long run. They were small fragments of their lives that they might normally keep to themselves, bits of personal history that belonged to only oneself.

However, when the façade they had between them eventually crumbled, they went back to sharing those mundane, pointless details—just like they'd done before. Perhaps Brittany texting Santana to tell her that she saw a pigeon snatch a pretzel from a kid on the street would seem pointless, but it wasn't pointless to them. They wanted to know those things about the other's day and to understand that the feeling was mutual. Brittany wanted to hear about how Santana saw some famous rapper had his personal assistant bring him two chili dogs from a street vendor outside and halted a production meeting until he'd eaten both. Santana wanted to hear about Brittany completing the best arabesque that she'd ever done in her classic ballet class at the studio that day.

There was something completely comforting in knowing that they could share any ridiculous thought that crossed their mind. Neither one worried that the other might find a late night text about a dream featuring a shark on a motorcycle to be grating or annoying. In fact, that sort of complete honesty and openness was something they'd craved when they stopped talking for the six months they were apart. Now that they were talking again, both wanted to share everything, almost in some sort of effort to make up for lost time.

The openness that the two of them shared allowed them to find their place in one another's lives, almost seamlessly. Santana stepped back into the roles she once occupied for the blonde. She wasn't just a best friend, or even just an ex or possible future girlfriend. She was a willing tutor, making flashcards and helping Brittany in her history of modern dance class. She also functioned as the blonde's ceaseless cheerleader, urging her on and spurring her to study harder, effectively building her self-confidence and esteem.

Brittany resumed her role as the voice of reason in the brunette's life. Several times over the months since Brittany moved to the city, Santana wanted to strangle her roommates. During one particular incident, she'd come home around midnight from working late at the studio. Kurt and Rachel were running vocal scales and arguing about music theory long after she'd tried to go to bed, prompting her to threaten their lives if they didn't shut up. The loft became embroiled in a heated Kurt and Rachel versus Santana argument about appropriate levels of sound and quiet hours. It wasn't until Brittany stepped in three days later, getting everyone to talk about things rationally, that the dilemma was eventually resolved.

Left to her own devices, Santana would have eventually come to terms with the fact that she lived with two people she refused to speak with. With Brittany around, she was encouraged to talk about her feelings and sort out her problems. The blonde was also quick to put Santana's ever-growing stress levels at ease, with her joyful spirit and light-hearted mentality. It provided the brunette with a balanced home and work life. That was, however, whenever Santana had enough time to see her. Due to her hectic schedule, Brittany usually just made sure to call and text daily, ensuring that the other girl knew she was constantly on her mind.

* * *

Brittany had been the very first person that Santana had presented with a copy of the finished, factory-sealed Ghost Story album. She'd hand-delivered it while visiting Brittany at her single dorm room one afternoon, early November. Santana felt like she'd finally accomplished something that made her worthy. This belief was only reaffirmed by the reaction she got. The blonde had squeaked with joy, planting a kiss on Santana's cheek in thanks. Brittany then proceeded to listen to the entire record, laying side-by-side with the brunette, on her bed in the dorm.

Midway through the fourth track, Santana felt a shift on the bed. Brittany had taken her hand, lacing their fingers together. By the ninth track, the blonde had curled up against Santana's side. The brunette couldn't help but to wrap her arms around the other girl. When the CD ended, Santana watched with awe as Brittany sat up, staring down at the body beneath her until their eyes met with a crackle of electricity. Santana could hear her heart thumping in her chest, the sound ricocheting in her ears. Before either of them knew what was happening, Brittany leaned over and gently connected their lips.

Santana's body exploded with fireworks.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she savored the pressure of Brittany's soft mouth against hers. The blonde tasted like spearmint gum. Santana had to resist every urge in her whole body to not wrap her arms around the other girl's neck and pull her closer. She wanted to force their kiss to deepen and their clashing forms to melt together. Instead, she settled for what Brittany was giving: passionate lips and tongue and roaming hands.

Just as their lips were started to fall into a well-practice, utterly engrained rhythm with one another, Brittany pulled away. Her face reddened but she didn't move from her compromising position of hovering above the brunette, their torsos touching deliciously. Santana's eyes flew open. She suddenly panicked that Brittany was uncomfortable at what had just happened, or worse, regretted it.

The blonde, as always, surprised her.

"Shit, sorry," she grinned sheepishly. "I wouldn't do that to Rachel."

Santana, despite her best effort, giggled. "Um no, Brit. I would hope not."

The blonde stared down at her, with a tenderness that made Santana's face suddenly hot. "I know we're working stuff out and that friends don't do that… but I just had to kiss you. I'm just so… proud of you, San. That album is going to be your calling card someday."

Santana's eyebrows rose and she cocked her head a bit. "Really? You liked it? You're not just saying that, are you?"

Brittany shook her head with enthusiasm. "Of course not. I'd never lie about important stuff. You should know that," she reminded her gently. "It was seriously an amazing album. I just can't believe that my girlfr—" Brittany snapped her mouth shut suddenly. She managed to turn even redder, if that was at all possible. Santana's heart leapt with the Freudian slip.

Brittany had almost said _girlfriend_; that part was obvious. What might not have been obvious was how _that_ word, coming out of Brittany's lips just then, lightened Santana's heart. It fluttered in a way that she thought she would never experience again after their break up. Without missing a beat, the blonde recovered enough to croak out an edited version of the sentence she'd attempted before. "I can't believe that my _good friend_ helped make that record."

More than anything, Santana wanted to cup Brittany's face and tell her that she wanted that title again. She wanted the word "girlfriend" to be attached to her name when it came to the blonde. She wanted to admit to the other girl that this whole _we're just friends_ _and nothing more thing _tore at her heart because she didn't _want_ to be _just_ friends… she couldn't be. It was a joke. This was a safety mechanism, a failsafe; it was prolonged foreplay for something that was bound to happen. Santana was starting to realize this with every passing second the blonde peered down from above.

Their attempts being exclusive platonic friends never seemed to work. Their warning devices, meant to keep them from getting in too deep with one another, had been faulty from the genesis of their friendships. There was always something that broke past barriers and refused to be stifled.

Even before they got together in high school, something was there between them, lying dormant until the right time. Maybe she'd secretly known it all along but never quite understood it: somewhere inside Santana knew that she was pulled to the blonde by an instant gravity. It had been there from the very moment she'd first laid eyes on the other girl. That attraction, she'd worked hard to cage it and suppress it. It scared her with its irrevocable nature. It startled her how suddenly every song on the radio or movie involving love brought Brittany to her mind. It would take time to uncover the truth that had been there but never really accepted. The more she thought about it, the more obvious it became. Santana had _always_ cared for Brittany, _always_ been _in love_ with her, _always_ wanted to be with her, _always_ desired her.

However, coming to terms with how she felt didn't necessarily solve anything for the Latina. Falling in love with your best friend, one who happened to be the same gender, always seemed like such a doomed fate. Santana had heard many horror stories of such things happening; the inevitable rejection seemed to be the only result.

The thought of losing Brittany because Santana was in love with her was terrifying. She never would have said anything about it, but eventually it became too apparent to hide anymore. Even though she and Brittany's friendship had always involved a lot of physical contact, Santana never quite knew what to make of things. It seemed so natural to do those things with Brittany—the hugging, the cuddling, the handholding. Eventually, the kissing and the sex would become just as commonplace as everything else.

But something was still there, a puzzle piece that never quite fit. Santana tried to ignore the nagging feeling she had somewhere in the back of her mind- the one that tried to prod her into talking to the blonde about what was going on. She wanted to know Brittany's motivations for not pulling away at their first kiss in the pool. She wanted to know why Brittany hadn't recoiled or rejected her advances. This bothered her the most: Santana was never quite sure where they stood. It wasn't until Brittany expressed that she enjoyed kissing and touching that Santana began to even entertain the idea that the blonde might have felt the same things all along.

Santana could never quite believe that all the love she had harbored for Brittany was reciprocated. But just because the blonde felt the same way didn't make it easy to broadcast their relationship. In fact, it made Santana more paranoid. She had this perfect thing with the girl she loved. She started to believe that by sharing it and letting other people judge it—it might be ruined. So she stayed in the closet and dragged Brittany in with her.

Those were the hard times, she would later admit. But no matter who Brittany dated, or she dated for that matter, they were always still together emotionally. Santana's seventeen-year-old self could lie in that choir room by pretending to be interested in some boy—but out of the corner of her eye, she was _always_ looking at Brittany. It was the same with the blonde. She could date Artie and still find herself in bed with Santana hours later. They may have tried to cover up what was going on, but they couldn't with one another.

Was that where they were now? Their weekly lunch dates and weekend sleepovers were starting to resemble what their relationship consisted of before they were both open about it in high school. It was all starting to be too much. Were they technically apart but still emotionally in a relationship? Santana was starting to wonder.

Her eyes searched Brittany's; she looked for an indication that the blonde might have reached the same conclusion. The blue that met hers just reflected back worry and anxiety. Brittany was still mortified that her slip of tongue had revealed that she considered Santana to be more than just a friend. She hadn't even really needed the accidental relationship title to indicate that she was interested in the brunette; the passionate kiss they'd been enveloped in prior should have conveyed that already. But she still needed some sort of affirmation from Santana that what she said was ok… that the other girl wouldn't freak out… that she wouldn't run like she had so many times in the past.

For a moment, Santana felt an overwhelming shame that Brittany would be so worried about her reaction. She had proved, time and time again, that she had a tendency to go when things got too hard. If Brittany was trying to work on showing that Santana was her first choice and that they could rebuild their friendship, Santana could work on being emotionally available and not shying away from situations that scared her.

So she took the first step in that process.

"Britt, do you want to talk about what you almost said?" Santana offered softly. Her eyes shone with love and affection, immediately putting the blonde at ease. "I mean, I have to be honest with you. I'm not your girlfriend right now." The blonde's face fell. Santana immediately grabbed her hand, silently begging her to let her finish. "We're not together right now. But I know I'm not dating anyone else… or even interested in seeing other people. I'm for you, ok? I just want to make sure we're on solid ground before we take the next step. Let's just keep things casual."

Brittany nodded slowly. Part of the worry slipped away. "I get that. I am just so used to calling you by that… _term_… that it's hard to remember that you're not technically my girlfriend. But… what's the next step? Is the next step kissing or sleeping together?" Brittany questioned, cocking her head slightly. "Because I can deal with not ravaging you until we're both ready… but when you point that mouth at me… it makes me want to kiss you," she shrugged honestly. "That's not my fault. I mean- I can do casual and everything. But your lips are like… tractor beams." Santana laughed at this, trying her best to face her mouth away from Brittany as she did it, as to not tempt the other girl.

"I don't know what the next step is," Santana admitted finally, playing with their intertwined fingers. "I just think we should go with what feels right. We can play things by ear. We don't have to rush anything or make anything… off limits. We don't need rules or restrictions on this- we just need to be on the same page and communicate."

Brittany watched her, an unreadable expression on her face, as Santana finished her thought and waited for a response. The blonde blinked several times after a moment. "I agree. I'm sorry- it's just… I'm taken aback. When did you get so beautifully mature?" Santana felt her cheeks grow warm at the compliment. Brittany squeezed together their hands. "You're so wonderfully sure of who you are now; you even hold yourself differently. I think this city changed you." Santana opened her mouth to respond but Brittany went on. "Not in a bad way, San. You used to be so timid, you know? New York has given you something. It's in your stride and your posture. It's this… confidence. It's like… you've found where you belong."

Santana soaked up the praise with a small, shy smile. "Thanks, Britt."

The blonde returned the grin wholeheartedly. She leaned down swiftly and pressed another quick, firm kiss to the brunette's lips before she rolled off of the other girl. Brittany scrambled off the bed and picked up the CD jewel case in her hands before restarting the track listing to listen to the album again. She peered over at Santana, who was propped up on her forearms, watching the blonde.

Brittany knew that had she stayed on the bed, they probably would have ended up fooling around. The first time they… connected… again after so long couldn't be rushed in any way. It couldn't happen on a forgettable weekday, only a few hours before Brittany had to be in the dance studio to practice. It couldn't happen when what they would do would qualify as merely sex… and not making love. Brittany's days of sleeping with Santana and trying not to force it to mean something were long gone.

This needed time.

"Thanks for giving me a copy of this, San," Brittany finally piped up, glancing at the booklet in her hands. Her eyes searched the record for Santana's name and she found it, along with the title of _assistant executive producer_. Her heart swelled as she ran her fingers over the printed words. "I still fully intend to go out and buy it for myself though. I want to be able to say that I went to some record store in Chelsea or something—and bought the first album that you worked on."

Santana managed to refrain from releasing an "aw shucks" from her mouth. She swallowed down any lame response she might give and just smiled instead. "Thanks, Britt," she told the other girl. The words came out with certain adoration to them, a reverence reserved for the blonde alone. "Booth is hosting some giant release party this upcoming weekend, actually. I just found out about it. I am allowed to put a couple friends on the guest list. I already know that Rachel and Kurt will absolutely die if I don't bring them. They are always begging me to take them to these things—they want to brown-nose people in the industry," she explained to the blonde. "And god, I can't deal with them writing a one-act every time I upset them. The last one, about me finishing Rachel's soymilk without asking, was just terrible. The characterization they used for the milk-drinking villain was offensive on so many different levels," Santana found herself rambling. She cleared her throat and tried to focus on what she was trying to ask. "The point of that was supposed to be me asking you if you wanted to… come with me."

"Come with you or come _with_ you," Brittany wondered.

"Come _with me_," Santana tried to clarify. "Like… as my plus one."

"So… as your date?" Brittany pressed on, trying not to smile at the brunette's invitation.

Santana felt herself getting flustered. For a moment she wondered if this was moving too fast, if the invitation wasn't casual enough. "Um… do you want it to be a date? Would that be weird? We just had a conversation about taking things at our own pace… would that be moving too fast? Am I being too presumptuous? No pressure or anything."

"It's a date," the blonde announced nonchalantly. She crossed the dorm room to envelope Santana in a firm hug. "No pressure."

* * *

Santana lifted her head from her hands as she heard the door she was stationed by open and shut. Kurt was suddenly standing there in front of her, looking concerned. His skin-tight gold pants and half-unbuttoned black shirt (revealing like… six strands of chest hair) hurt her head and fashion sense. She watched him eye her stressed-out demeanor and the jewel case sitting next to her.

"There you are," he finally broke the silence. "We just got here and immediately you disappear to mope _out here_. If I weren't extremely pleased with myself at getting some super hot Greek bartender's number, I would attempt to be worried about you." Kurt said it as a joke, but his grin dropped when he saw Santana's face lacking a reciprocating smile. He sat down next to her, picking up the record in his hands as to not sit on it. "What are you doing out here? You know those people—the crowd just beyond that door… in that immaculate penthouse palace with an impressive dance floor on top of this skyscraper in the greatest city on Earth? They're all here because you and some band worked for months to create an amazing album _out of nothing_."

"_I know that_, Kurt," Santana snapped, her voice low.

He just stared at her, trying to grasp what was really going on. "Santana, what's going on in that lovely head of yours? You accomplished something real. You deserve to celebrate," he offered carefully. "You look amazing and your makeup is impeccable." Kurt was probably only saying those things because he picked out her wardrobe for the evening… and did her makeup. Santana had to admit, even if she didn't want to, that she did look incredible. He'd chosen a short red dress with a black sash for her, along with a pair of red pumps and a matching clutch. She looked professional and sexy at the same time, he had convinced her as he applied her eyeliner with a sure hand. In the end, he'd been right. However, she wasn't about to tell him that right now.

Kurt had volunteered to dress and style her after she'd informed him that his name was printed on the guest list of a Metropolis Records party. Rachel, on the other hand, didn't have superficial fashion talents to exploit. Instead, Santana had bargained with the other roommate. She'd get her name on the guest list but in return, Santana got an entire month without Rachel's vocal scales after ten at night or before seven in the morning. It really worked out for everyone.

The day had been spent with a nervous energy. Santana was nervous about the evening, mostly because the release party now qualified as a date with Brittany. Santana nearly fainted when the blonde knocked at the door and kissed her cheek nonchalantly. Brittany seemed to be coyly oblivious to how amazing she looked. She was wearing a form-fitting blue dress, the shade of which brought out her stunning eyes. Her wavy blonde locks were down and splayed against bare, toned shoulders. The matching heels Brittany had on just seemed to add inches onto her legs, which already seemed to go on for miles. Santana had to consciously keep herself from drooling as her date twirled and then asked if she liked her outfit. A short, breathless nod was all Santana could manage.

Brittany sipped wine and chatted as the roommates finished getting ready. Despite bitter arguments over which of them got the bathroom to primp in first, they were all prepared to leave by the time their ride arrived. They'd been escorted in a company town car to the event; Booth sent the driver all the way to Bushwick to get them. It had been a big deal for Santana to announce to Brittany and her roommates that their car was waiting outside. It made her feel important, which was always a welcome notion.

However, a pressure began to weigh down on Santana as soon as they reached the large Metropolis Records building downtown. Kurt and Rachel dragged Brittany off to get her opinion on whether or not some Greek bartender was gay or not, leaving Santana to grow increasing anxious about the evening. She'd escaped to the foyer to catch her breath.

There was a table set up with gift bags on it nearby; they all contained a copy of the finished album. Santana approached the set-up and fished the packaged CD out of one of the dozens of bags. Before she knew it, she was seated on the stone bench, grasping at the concrete proof that she had accomplished something. She felt a warm tear slide down her cheek. She didn't know how she could feel simultaneous warming pride and staggering anxiety.

Santana had worked so long and so hard with Ghost Story. She knew what they'd emerged with was a genuinely good record—but what happened if no one else thought so? She'd never considered she now was beholden to the possible consumers who might buy the record. If the sales were subpar… if the reviews of the album were lackluster… if it didn't chart… she would be held accountable for all that. Well, Booth would be held accountable, really. But she was a new employee with very little experience… and was highly expendable. What if this was the closest to success that she might ever come? What happened if the record was a success… but she could never replicate the favorable outcome? What if she was just a flash in the pan? What if she wasn't strong or talented enough for this cutthroat world?

Santana had held the CD in her hands and suddenly she felt a lot older than her years. When exactly had she grown up? It was as if she woke up one day as an adult- with a confusing 401K (whatever that was) and health insurance through the company where she was employed. She had been given paperwork last week for starting a retirement plan. How had she been too oblivious to notice that she had stumbled, not into a job, but (hopefully) a career? When did all this happen?

But Santana didn't know how to articulate that feeling to anyone, not even to herself… let alone to Kurt. He was still seated next to her, waiting for an explanation as to why she'd ditch the release party to freak out in the foyer. She just shrugged awkwardly.

"I just… it's overwhelming," she finally admitted truthfully. "I feel like there's a lot of pressure on me. There's pressure for the album to do well financially, to garner good reviews and then continue producing lucrative musical projects." Kurt's eyebrows furrowed.

"Santana… you're right," he told her with a shrug. "You do have to consider all those factors. They're real pressures that you're facing… but not tonight. Tonight, just… be grateful that you're alive, and here, and surrounded by booze and friends." Kurt patted her thigh affectionately. "Besides, I just overheard Booth telling some guy in there that early reviews from _Rolling Stone_ and _Pitchfork_ agree that the record is phenomenal. So there's that." He pulled Santana into a tight hug as she gawked at him in disbelief over the news. When he let go, Kurt stood and offered his hand to the brunette. "You also have another major incentive to come back to that party," he informed her knowingly. "You have this stunning blonde date with incredible legs and blue eyes for only you- and you've abandoned in that party full of successful attractive people."

Santana stared at the outstretched hand for about a split second before grasping it, allowing Kurt to help her to her feet. She smoothed the dress out with shaking hands. "Lead the way, Lady Hummel," she ordered, swallowing the lump in her throat. Kurt was right: tonight was an evening to celebrate and have fun, not to have existential revelations. She took deep breaths as Kurt wrenched open the doors to the party.

* * *

The noise hit her first. Deep bass pumped through the room as she and Kurt made their way through a sea of moving and dancing bodies. It was dim inside the penthouse venue; the lights from the city outside seemed to provide the ambiance for the release party. It felt like huge space due to the insanely high ceilings with skylights and the fact that one entire side of the top floor of the Metropolis Building was constructed out of imposing glass windows overlooking downtown Manhattan.

They found Rachel talking to a fifty-something year old guy wearing a leather jacket, despite the fact that it was definitely not age-appropriate. She was animatedly telling him that she was looking to break into the business. The guy seemed delighted at her naive offer and made sure she got his card before he left procure more alcohol. Rachel spotted them and could barely contain herself as she held his card out to them as they reached her.

"Look! I got some executive's business card!" she gloated; holding the small rectangle of paper like it was precious treasure. Santana rolled her eyes, glancing back at the guy, now hitting on someone else.

"That's Murray Stevens," Santana told them, loud enough to be heard over the music. "He's a talent scout," she paused to let Rachel shriek before continuing. "Yeah, by that I mean one of those guys who hires the hoochies for the hip-hop videos. Like… that's his job—to find clueless chicks that are desperate for fame and willing to do whatever to get it. Rumor has it, he discovered Busta Rhymes' second baby mama a couple years ago." The look on Rachel's face was priceless; Santana briefly wished she'd been able to snap a picture of it before Rachel tossed the card onto the ground with a defeated grimace.

To avoid dealing with Rachel's encounter, and probably to hit on the bartender again, Kurt went to get the two of them drinks. Santana bobbed her head to the music and scanned the room for a head of long blonde hair. She hadn't seen Brittany since her freak out in the foyer.

She turned to look at Rachel and the pout on her face. "Hey, don't let it get you down," Santana advised honestly. "There are a lot of other talent scouts here, I'm sure. If I ever need backing vocals on a track, you know you're the first person I'd ask." This cheered Rachel up because before Santana could protest, the smaller girl was fiercely hugging her. Santana put up with the embrace for about three seconds before struggling to loosen Rachel's grip. "Lay off, Berry. Have you seen Britt?" Santana questioned, peering around. It was hard to see in the dim light.

Suddenly, her roommate's finger jutted out, indicating two people by the windows. "Isn't that her with the bassist?" Santana squinted to see better; Rachel was right.

Sure enough, Brittany was nursing a drink and talking intensely with Drew, the lothario bassist for Ghost Story. Judging by his posture and the way he kept leaning in to laugh with her, he was flirting. Brittany seemed oblivious, giggling and sipping her cocktail as he inched closer and closer to her. Santana's heart dropped in her chest.

It was the same shit as before, she reasoned. It was almost as if Brittany was never just single; she was just in between relationships. Santana had been stupid to think that no one else at the party, or anywhere for that matter, would realize what a stunning beauty the blonde was. If she wasn't with Brittany, there was a line of people who would love the opportunity. It seemed like there were always obstacles for them to overcome; when one of them was ready for more, the other wasn't, and vice versa. Brittany came as her date to the party, but it wasn't like they were together. She didn't have any right to object to the blonde talking or even flirting with anyone else. They said they were taking things slow and keeping it "casual"—but what did that even mean?

Kurt appeared with cups filled with cocktails. He didn't seem to notice the look on either of the girls' faces: Rachel's was full of worry, while Santana's was overcome with defeat. "Bartender and I have a date this week!" He cheered in a singsong melody excitedly. He then saw their expressions. "Um… what did I miss?"

Before Rachel could answer, Santana turned away from the windows sharply. "I'm getting a shot," she stated before disappearing to the bar. Kurt and Rachel watched her go, helpless.

* * *

Santana leaned over the bar, lining up three empty shot glasses into a neat row. They had been whiskey and she'd taken them as soon as they had been dispensed. Now, as the warmth of the alcohol coursed through her, she started to feel number and a little less concerned about everything else.

"Can I get a beer?" A familiar voice asked next to her. The bartender nodded and Santana turned to look at who had arrived in the empty space beside her slumped over form. It was Drew.

Santana resisted the urge to punch him in the stomach, knowing it would be unprofessional.

"Hey Drew," she greeted him, a bit too loudly. He glanced at her with a nod hello. "Where have you been all night? I haven't seen you around."

Drew accepted his beer from the bartender and took a swig. "Some fucking night. Get this- I was talking to this unbelievably hot chick for like… half and hour, right? I was this close," he indicated about an inch between his thumb and index finger, "to nailing her and she tells me that she's unavailable. What the fuck? Who sits there and flirts for that long when they came with someone?" Drew shakes his head, downing more from the bottle in his hand. "I'd like to know which lucky bastard gets to nail that hot piece of ass tonight."

Santana felt the hairs bristle on the back of her neck. She'd never really gotten along with Drew in the past, but didn't quite have a reason as to why she disliked him. They just seemed to clash. Now, Santana realized that it was probably because she could sense with her psychic Mexican third eye what a dick he was.

She was opening her mouth to tell him off when he cut her off, ignoring the look on her face. "Seriously though, Lopez, you're a dyke always on the prowl—back me up on this one," he joked, smacking her arm to get her attention, jostling her beverage. She got even angrier as she noted the spilled drink on her once-immaculate pumps. Santana was about to go all Lima Heights on this asshole. Drew didn't even glance at her to pick up on her stiff body language or clenched fists; he was too busy downing his beer and scanning the room, probably for Brittany. He carried on, seemingly desperate for attention. "Tell me if I'm wrong. It always seems like the guys who have girlfriends like that blonde chick… nine out of ten times they look like the type that can barely even get hard, let alone understand how to fuck a bitch of that caliber. Hot tail like her _always_ goes for the sensitive type and honestly, that's just a waste of good…"

Drew never finished his sentence. Instead he just watched as the blonde approached them both. He seemed to fall temporarily mute, which Santana was grateful for. She was about two seconds from punching him in the face for the offensive shit he'd just gotten done spewing ignorantly. She watched his face intently as Brittany wrapped a toned arm around her shoulders. A hand snaked under her chin, turning the brunette's head so that she was peering at Brittany's lovely face. The blonde took the opportunity to lean in so she could kiss Santana slowly on the mouth. The offensive things Drew spouted, the anxiety of the party, the worry she'd felt all evening—it seemed to melt out of Santana's body as the blonde's lips worked against hers, starting a fire low in her belly. She temporarily forgot that they were even in public, let alone at a work function, and were making out passionately. All that mattered were the perfectly synchronized movements of her mouth against Brittany's. Santana's hands found purchase on the blonde's waist, pulling her tighter until their bodies were flush against one another.

Brittany's mouth tasted like the pink martinis she'd been drinking and Santana couldn't help but to enjoy the sweetness on the other girl's lips. Dragging her tongue, she basked in the softness she found and the natural, easy motion of their kiss. It wasn't something she had to over think or second guess. Kissing Brittany was as innate to her as breathing. She sighed into the blonde's open mouth as strong fingers kneaded the back of her neck and tangled in her hair.

Santana had no idea how long they ended up kissing for. All she knew was that once Brittany pulled away, lightly tugging on Santana's lower lip with careful teeth, she didn't want to stop. All the brunette wanted was to drag Brittany to the nearest bathroom so she could get reacquainted with the softness of the blonde's skin—every inch of it. She blinked, dazed.

The whole incident only got better when she saw the slack jawed look on Drew's face. He was totally shocked to discover that the hot blonde he'd been objectifying was with the lesbian producer chick he'd been awkwardly eye-fucking for months. While the make out session had been extremely… arousing… to say the least, he was now a bit self-conscious that he'd been making comments about Santana's date. He swallowed hard while remaining dead silent.

Brittany ignored him standing there and only focused on Santana. She continued to play with the dark wavy locks by the nape of the other girl's neck, sending delicious shivers down the brunette's spine. "There you are, gorgeous. Can we go soon, babe? I can't wait to rip that dress off of you and get you into bed…" Brittany whispered hotly into her ear, obviously loud enough for Drew to hear as he eavesdropped. "You know that no one fucks me as good as you."

Santana almost fainted right then.

She found herself nodding at Brittany and taking the blonde's hand in her own. She moved to lead her through the crowd and back to Kurt and Rachel, but not before turning back to Drew just in time to catch his gawking face. "Hey Drew," she called to him. She smiled sweetly as he snapped to attention. "Go fuck yourself." She winked, still clutching the blonde's hand. With that, they disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Santana was aware of two important things: the firm grasp of Brittany's hand in hers and the nagging feeling of apprehension in her gut. She wanted to rejoice over the intensely passionate moment they'd just shared, but something wouldn't quite let the blind joy consume her so easily. Part of her wanted to know if the past ten minutes with Brittany was an act, just a charade to put Drew in his place. Another part of her wondered if a tiny bit of what just happened had been authentic. Maybe Brittany had just wanted to kiss her like that, out in the open and without a second thought to it. Why couldn't everything just be easy? Why couldn't she savor the moment without having to overanalyze it? Why couldn't she accept things at face value?

They found Rachel and Kurt plotting by one of the large windows. It was apparent that they were up to something because they were both whispering; their heads hovered close to one another. Rachel Berry was almost incapable of lowering the volume of her voice that much unless it was to be secretive. Kurt, on the other hand, usually only indulged Rachel in her attempting-to-be-surreptitious plans when there was something in it for him. Therefore, Santana knew to break up whatever it was that they were scheming about.

As they got close enough, Rachel accidentally raised her voice a bit too loud to be considered a whisper. She tended to get shrill when she was overly excited... or extremely intoxicated. "It's not a stupid idea, Kurt! It's brilliant. We just have to take the service elevator to the thirty-fifth floor, break into the CEO's office and use your belt to secure ourselves to a piece of furniture." Rachel seemed confused as to what part of that ruse was idiotic in the least.

Kurt rubbed his temple, obviously very drunk. "Rachel, darling, what will we do when they find us belted to an end table or whatever?"

She didn't miss a beat. "That's when we impress them. You and I will then launch into a perfectly harmonized, entirely a cappella mash-up of '_Part of Your World' _from _The Little Mermaid _and _'Party in the USA' _by Miley Cyrus. I already arranged the number and I have a copy of the sheet music in my purse…" Rachel began digging away in the large bag she had on her arm. "When they hear our obvious talent, the creative minds at Metropolis Records will have no choice but to offer us a recording contract," she assured Kurt, who had by this time noticed Santana and Brittany standing there. He looked from Rachel's hunched form to the other two, swaying slightly due to the consumption of liquor.

"The gig is up, Rach…" he hiccupped, yanking on her arm to get her to stop searching her purse.

Rachel snapped her head up and abandoned her attempts to locate the sheet music. She giggled nervously. Until then, Santana hadn't realized that Rachel was just as drunk as Kurt was. It made the situation no less than ten times funnier. Rachel, attempting to keep up appearances, bowed regally at the two of them. "We were just talking about…" She faltered, her fuzzy mind unable to think of an alibi fast enough.

"The proper way to cook radishes," Kurt interjected, trying to cover for his accomplice. "Rachel seems to think you should boil them." He winked at her without considering that he wasn't being sneaky about it. Brittany burst out laughing.

Santana shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose with her index and thumb of her right hand. "Listen, you two- I am only going to say this _once_. Any plans to stage a… _talent sit-in_… or whatever you'd call it, in the CEO's office tonight… they aren't happening." She used her firm tone of voice so they'd know she was serious. "You two are wasted, if you hadn't noticed. We're all leaving now. Gather your shit and move it." She urged her two roommates towards the exit.

Despite the fact that she'd been drinking the majority of the evening, Santana seemed to be the most coherent and thus in charge of getting them all home. She ushered everyone into the elevator and managed to keep Kurt from pressing every button on the inner control panel. It wasn't until they were several floors away from the ground level that she even noticed that she'd been clutching Brittany's hand the entire time.

Santana shifted on her heels nervously. "Do you need us to… drop you off at your dorm or anything?" She asked, trying to keep the hope that Brittany might say _no_ out of her voice.

The blonde squeezed their joined hands. "It's really late," she pointed out offhandedly. "Do you think I could just stay at your place?"

Her blue eyes flashed expectantly at Santana. She could only smile with a gulp and nod. "Sure, Britt."

* * *

It took Santana and Brittany's combined efforts to get Rachel and Kurt into their respective beds. They'd fallen asleep on the taxi ride home and upon being woken up both were extremely irritable and grouchy. Brittany took responsibility for Rachel, tucking the brunette into bed with a kiss on the forehead and a glass of water with two aspirin.

Santana, on the other hand, was much less gracious with Kurt. He kept trying to call Blaine so he could share some of his sentiments about the break up through the use of profanity and accusations of past infidelities. Santana struggled with him for a good five minutes before she was finally able to pry the phone out of his clammy hands. She slipped the phone in her cleavage before coaxing him into bed. She pinched his cheek affectionately before shutting off his light and leaving him to sleep.

Santana found Brittany rifling through her drawers, looking for something apparently. "Um, Britt?" she interrupted softly, touching the other girl's shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Things became clear when the blonde pulled a worn red and black shirt from the bottom drawer. Brittany turned the garment over in her hand until the logo on the front was visible. It was the sleep shirt that she always borrowed when she slept over at Santana's house when they were in high school. The summer before their junior year, the brunette had attended the _University of Cincinnati Summer Cheer Camp_ for a month. The distance had been almost unbearable for the two of them. When Santana returned, Brittany wore the camp shirt around for days because it smelled like her.

"How did you even know that I still had that?" Santana asked, watching Brittany's fingers trace the lettering of the old shirt. "How did you know it would be there waiting for you?"

Brittany shrugged her shoulders. "I just knew," she answered vaguely. "I mean- I _hoped_ that it would be there." She turned around to stare fully at the other girl. "You hold onto important things. You've always known this was important to me."

Santana nodded slowly, accepting the answer as it was, without further explanation. Brittany turned her back to Santana, collecting her hair in her left hand. "Can you unzip me?" she asked quietly. Santana gulped, stepping forward so she was only inches away from Brittany's bare shoulders. She watched as goose bumps broke out over the blonde's skin, rippling deliciously. Moving slowly, she ran her fingertips over Brittany's back gently before she located the zipper. Lowering it, more and more of the other girl's body was revealed. Santana pulled until the metal track stopped at the bottom of Brittany's long torso. She didn't try to push anything after finishing what was asked of her. She stepped back and turned away, allowing the other girl some privacy to change clothes.

Santana put some distance between their bodies and took off her dress with her back to Brittany. She slipped into a gray McKinley shirt and waited patiently for some indication that the blonde was finished too. She wanted to peer over her shoulder so she might catch a peek at Brittany's lovely half-clothed body… but somehow it felt cheap. Santana felt convinced that if she looked she might turn into a pillar of salt. So she stared straight ahead until she heard the bed creak.

"You gonna stop staring at that curtain and get in here with me or what?" Brittany's voice teased. Santana allowed herself to turn around. The blonde was waiting, curled up on her side of the bed. The brunette clamored in after her, shutting off her bedside lamp in the process.

They lay in the darkness, not touching, for a few silent minutes. Finally, Santana broke the quiet.

"Can I ask you something, Britt?"

The blonde shifted next to her and Santana automatically knew that the girl was on her side, facing her now. "Of course," she whispered.

"What made you come up to me and Drew while we were talking and… make out with me?" Santana finally gathered the courage to ask.

"Did you not like it?" Brittany questioned, without really answering.

Santana shook her head slightly. "God..._of course I liked it_. It was phenomenal." She could feel the blonde's eyes boring into the side of her head. "But what made you do it?"

Brittany was silent for a minute, formulating her answer. "Drew seemed nice at first, a little intense maybe. But the longer we talked, the grosser he got. He made some pretty graphic suggestions to me as to how we could have our own after party. So I told him the truth. I admitted that I'm unavailable… because I am. I'm invested in you." Santana's heart fluttered in her chest as Brittany went on. "He got really rude when I told him that though, and kept making comments about how he was probably ten times the man that my date was. I walked away from him because I didn't want to indulge him anymore." Santana shifted in bed next to the blonde so that they were facing one another, staring into the other's eyes. "I saw him start talking to you and judging by his sneer and how red his face was, I just kind of assumed that he was relating the story to you. Guys like that love to reaffirm their manhood when they're rejected by gloating and putting down someone else. I figured he'd make some stupid comment about _my_ date."

"So you just came over and kissed me to show him up?" Santana mumbled aloud. She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Brittany placed a soft hand atop hers. "I said I _assumed_ that was the conversation, San. If I was right, then I made you look like a total bad ass in front of that dick. If I was wrong, then I just got to make out with you. It was a win-win either way." Santana chuckled quietly as Brittany paused. "But I meant what I said, every word of it. I _did_ miss you at the party. I _did_ want to leave with you. I _couldn't wait_ to get you into this bed. And you do… fuck me… better than anyone else."

Santana's breathing all but stopped. Brittany reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind the brunette's ear. Her brain must have short-circuited because no words even came to Santana's lips. She was replaying Brittany's last few sentences over and over again in her head.

The blonde dragged her index finger down the other girl's motionless jaw. "I would straddle you right now and fuck you senseless, San- but we've both been drinking. I don't want to touch you for the first time after… being apart when my mind is cloudy. I want to be able to remember every moment of it clearly." Santana found herself nodding dumbly, agreeing to refrain from touching one another- even though her damp panties told a different story.

Brittany leaned forward, kissing Santana softly for a moment. When she pulled back, she smiled bashfully. "Do you think you could hold me? I've missed that." Santana came to her senses finally. She watched as the blonde turned over so she could press her back into Santana's front.

Brittany sighed contentedly as the brunette wrapped her arms around her body, clutching tightly. Santana buried her face into the soft hair in front of her, inhaling deeply as Brittany reached her hand back to rub Santana's exposed lower thigh. They'd cuddled like this for ages now, in the same position, with the same intimate intensity. They still fit together perfectly.

Santana found a warm sense of reassurance as she felt Brittany's breath slow down as she slipped into sleep. Despite the anxiety she'd been crippled by earlier, she felt oddly calm now. The blonde in her arms radiated tranquility. Santana pressed a soft kiss onto the other girl's shoulder. Loving Brittany was preternaturally intrinsic to her. It was nice to know that no matter how mature she'd become or how jarring it felt to see the face of an adult staring back at her in the mirror… some things never changed.

* * *

**more brittana + nice long chapter = happy readers who click below and review, right?**


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property._

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who commented on previous chapters. I appreciate the encouragement and read each and every review posted. Tonight's finale was rough- I hope that good Brittana fan fiction will sustain this lovely fandom. I firmly intend to keep the dream alive.

* * *

One of the brain's many marvelous traits, Santana pondered silently, was the deep connection between scent and memory. Something as simple as a wafting smell could trigger an entire series of flashbacks. The mind couldn't help it; sometimes the most random lingering traces of something or someone could force one to relive those ties to the past. As much as one might want to erase the binding feelings that come with those smells, it wasn't always possible.

If it were possible to sever the ties between scents and memories, maybe Santana wouldn't have been sitting there, miserable on Thanksgiving. She eyed the stove and peered into the lit oven through the small window on the front of the door. Inside the appliance, a turkey was roasting away, basting in butter and herbs. It had tanned from a pasty white bird to a golden brown masterpiece, courtesy of Kurt who had been tending to it obsessively for the past several hours. The dedication was bound to pay off with a delicious feast later that evening.

Santana had been put in charge of other courses, leaving the main protein to Kurt. She'd been chopping potatoes only a moment ago when he'd opened the oven door to check on the turkey. He had clucked fondly as he pulled out the inner rack and assessed the cooking progression. After coating the bird in another dousing of butter and broth, he'd left it to roast again before disappearing into the living room.

He hadn't noticed, in his hasty exit to return back to the television, that Santana had paused in her task and instead lost focus, like someone under a hypnotic spell. The living room beckoned to him, as Rachel and Quinn were there waiting for him so they could resume watching some Meryl Streep movie together. None of the friends had any idea of the reverie that Santana found herself entrenched in. The aromatic smell of the fowl triggered something in her mind that forced her to relive memories of Thanksgiving, two years prior.

* * *

The thing she _really_ remembered about that day was her abuela. The terse older woman had to be dragged to the gathering, despite her constant complaints. Santana's father thought that a family meal might serve to clear the tense air between his daughter and his mother. He pleaded with Santana to just show respect and be on her best behavior. She had no idea what her father said to her abuela in the car on the way over; the old woman just looked like she'd tasted something unpleasant and disregarded her for the majority of the evening.

Her memory focused mostly on the actually dinner part of the holiday. They'd all been sitting together, the table strewn with delicious dishes and sides. A large turkey sat in the middle of everything, waiting to be carved. Santana kept her hands on her lap and her head lowered, avoiding eye contact. Brittany had invited her to join the Pierces for Thanksgiving but her parents had insisted that she stay at home instead. Thus, Santana was stuck with just her parents and her abuela, silent and sullen. Her father was desperate for some sort of reconciliation and apparently forcing them to be in the same room was how he intended to facilitate that miracle. They were waiting for her mom to finish plating the braised carrots before they carved the turkey—leaving Santana there with just her over-zealous father and her silently disapproving abuela. She'd be damned if she'd start any conversation, so she said nothing. Unfortunately, the old woman across the table from her had other ideas.

"Sit up straight, Santana," she'd snapped suddenly, breaking the silence. "Your slouch isn't becoming of a young lady." She had said it in heavily accented English. Santana knew that telling her the same thing in Spanish would be acknowledging their kinship and the intimacy that used to exist between them. Her abuela was the one who'd taught her Spanish, after all.

Santana made no attempt to reply and just adjusted her posture instead. It was passive aggressive. It was disrespectful to not mumble some sort of "yes, abuela" to show that she submitted to her elder's authority. But Santana couldn't find it within herself to care. It hurt to have her beloved abuela speak to her that way… to treat her like she wasn't her granddaughter… that she wasn't even blood. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She focused on a memory of Brittany earlier to quell her sadness at the loss of familiarity. The blonde had stopped by to bring Santana a piece of homemade pumpkin pie, sent by Mrs. Pierce.

"My mom says that you're welcome at our Thanksgiving tonight if things get too rough, babe," Brittany had reminded her before handing over the pie, wrapped in cellophane. It was still warm.

They had sat at the kitchen table and shared the piece, using one fork between them. Brittany had watched her carefully, noting the look of tension etched on Santana's face. It wasn't hard to see that the brunette was not looking forward to being forced to spend an evening in her obtuse grandmother's company. The blonde had sighed, wishing she could make the holiday better for her girlfriend. Thanksgiving wasn't supposed to be about forced confrontations; it was supposed to be about being thankful. "I know that tonight won't be fun or anything… but try to remember that you do have people in your life who love you and are thankful for you—even if they're not your blood relatives," the blonde reminded carefully, passing the fork. Santana felt her cheeks grow hot at Brittany's loving words. The blonde squeezed her hand and then used her thumb to wipe a smear of whipped cream from Santana's upper lip. Then she replaced where her thumb had just been with her mouth. She kissed the brunette softly, rubbing her cheek with tender hands. When they parted lips, the blonde blushed shamelessly. "You already know that I'm most thankful for you, San."

Santana tried to hold onto that feeling, the warmth of being loved and cherished, as she fought back the urge to leave. She wondered what her father and mother's reactions might be if she got up, mid-dinner, and announced she was going to Brittany's house instead, where she would be welcomed and not judged. She envisioned throwing in some sort of comment about how she and Brittany would no doubt be engaging in elicit lesbian sexual activities that evening, just to see the look on her abuela's horror-stricken face. She might even go so far as to say that she was honestly thankful for the hot pie she'd be eating that night, which tasted better to her than any dish set before her on the table, dessert or otherwise. That thought put a small smile on her face.

The actual dinner started out cordially enough. Her mother finally arrived with the carrots. Her father carved the turkey. Her abuela lead everyone in grace, spending an inordinate amount of time asking God to forgive them of their sins. Her parents attempted to make small talk. They discussed the recipes and the weather, even some old Thanksgiving memories. Her abuela barely spoke to anyone and just stoically sat there eating. Santana pushed food around on her plate, her appetite diminished given the anxiety in her gut. Then her mother made a tragic misstep in the conversation.

"Santana's cheerleading squad is doing well this season," she'd commented, trying to get everyone to talk easily. "They might end up at Nationals again."

Santana inwardly groaned, wishing that her mother hadn't brought her up at all. She just wanted to fly under the radar until the meal was over, when she could escape to her room and eventually over to Brittany's. She just sighed and poked a carrot with her fork.

"I'm surprised she's still allowed on the team," her abuela suddenly interjected. "I would think that it would make the rest of the squad _uncomfortable_ to have such a… _perverse teammate_. Is she allowed to use the same showers as the other girls?" The way she said the words reminded Santana of someone who was overly enunciating syllables for effect.

Santana felt her chest seize and her hand clench the fork so tightly that her knuckles showed white. Her mother's mouth dropped open, aghast at such an offensive comment. Her father gulped loudly, forcing himself to take a sip of his wine to keep from coughing.

"Mami…" her father implored, eyes flickering awkwardly between them. "You shouldn't say such things. We're proud of Santana, every part of her."

"I don't see the problem in mentioning this _problem_. I'm sure all the girls are thinking it… even if they don't say it out loud," her abuela enunciated clearly again, staring hard at him. "You may claim to accept all the perverted parts of your daughter, but I cannot sit idly by and pretend that this isn't shameful."

Santana couldn't bear it anymore. "Just because I'm a lesbian doesn't mean I am some predatory animal who goes around peering up my teammates' skirts," she sneered, throwing down her napkin into her plate. "And there's nothing shameful about who I am, abuela. What _is_ shameful is a grandmother goes out of her way to be unkind to her grandchild—and tries to make her feel worthless and... _wrong_ in her own skin." She stood, knocking into her plate suddenly. The clink of china made her shudder before she locked eyes with her seething abuela. "You will never change me or who I love. I love Brittany. She accepts me and loves me for every single part of who I am. If you cannot support something as pure and good as that—then I'm _glad_ you're not in my life." With that she was gone. She found her way to the front door, grabbing just her purse on the way out.

Santana only had snippets of memories for the drive over to Brittany's house. She spent most of the time in her car trying to control her breathing so that she didn't hyperventilate. The collar of her shirt was soaked in several spots from tears and her nose was running down her face. She probably looked a mess, but none of that mattered when the comforting image of the Pierce house appeared down the street. She parked her car out front and wiped her face on her sleeve, shuddering at the rapidly cooling temperature of her car; she'd forgotten her coat back at her parents' house.

Santana temporarily lost her confidence at she stood outside the front door, too anxious to knock. Should she text Brittany first? Should she just go back home? She felt lost on the one day of the year that she was supposed to be surrounded by family. But, she realized standing there, that Brittany was her family now. The blonde was a deep-seeded part of who she was and who she wanted to share these moments of thankfulness with. She found the courage to knock on the door.

An old woman with white hair and pleasant creases around her eyes opened it after a few moments. She peered at Santana from inside the warm house; the sound of laughter and the clinking of plates could be heard from somewhere past her. A smile crept onto the woman's face as she turned her head, craning it over her shoulder. "Brittany, your lovely girlfriend is at the door." With that, she reached out, clutching at Santana's hand and pulling her inside the lighted house. "So you're Santana. Britt's been gushing all night about how beautiful you are. It's nice to see she hasn't been exaggerating this time," the woman teased with a wink. Santana's mouth just hung there, amazed.

"How'd you know who I was?" she managed to ask as the woman took her purse from her, setting it down carefully by the door while still holding her hand.

"Who else would you be? Britt described you to the entire table perfectly: breath-taking Latina with lush hair, fierce eyes, and a killer body? That's you to a tee, sweetie." Santana felt her face grow warm at this; the woman ignored it with a chuckle. "Come on in and meet the rest of the family. I'm Nana Rose."

Finally finding her voice, Santana smiled genuinely for the first time all evening. "It's a pleasure. I'm so thankful to be here."

"We're happy to have you," a voice stated from the door to the dining room. Brittany stood there, watching the little interaction between her grandmother and her girlfriend. She grinned happily and launched herself at Santana, enveloping her in a rib-crushing hug. The brunette barely noticed as Nana Rose clucked approvingly and returned to the dining room, leaving them in the foyer alone. Brittany eventually pulled back, covering Santana's entire face in soft kisses until she reached plump lips and set about tasting them. After several intimate moments, she pulled back with a twinkle in her eye, her arms still wrapped around the other girl. "I don't know what happened at your house tonight with your grandma… but I assume it's not good. I want you to talk to me about it so we can work through it. But let's save that for later. We have a table full of food and about a dozen relatives dying to meet you. What do you say?" The blonde let go and extended her hand to Santana. The brunette took it eagerly, allowing Brittany to lead her into the dining room. For the first time all day, she finally felt like she belonged somewhere.

* * *

Santana sighed at that memory, relishing the feeling that came over her when she thought about the acceptance she found with Brittany's family. The rest of the evening had been filled with laughter and amazing food. Brittany had found ways to make her feel better, even when the entire world seemed against her. It felt oddly right that she was coming full circle and celebrating the holiday with the blonde again.

Everyone seemed to have his or her own reasons for staying in New York City over Thanksgiving. Kurt and Rachel both were working on pieces for the NYADA winter showcase—which they'd been formally invited to participate in by one Carmen Tibideaux herself. Santana's ears still randomly rang for days after they'd gotten their calligraphy-covered invitations and screamed their lungs out in celebration. Now the two roommates had been spending almost every day of the weeklong break sorting through music and trying to decide on the perfect songs to sing. The fact that Blaine was bringing his roommate slash boyfriend with him to Lima discouraged Kurt from making the trek home. Finn had recently started hooking up some chick at his college, leading to many late night fights with Rachel via Skype, FaceTime chat, texting, phone and really any other medium one might use to argue with someone else. Their dysfunctional relationships had both probably been the underlying reasons why Kurt and Rachel didn't return to Lima for the holiday but Santana was smart enough not to bring it up, lest their wrath turn upon her.

Quinn had arrived the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. She was going through an independence-phase that made her want to do self-described "grown up things"—like having a friend's Thanksgiving instead of a family one back home. Part of her reason could be attributed to her disaster that was her parents' marriage… and how she always ended up in the middle of their constant, drunken fights. None of that mattered to her friends in New York who, together on the phone weeks ago, begged her to come to visit. They made plans to cook an elaborate meal together and drink too much wine, like adults in movies do. Quinn didn't tell them that she'd planned on just staying in the dorms and lamenting over her lack of holiday plans before they called; instead she told them she'd think about. She (painfully) waited about a day before calling and accepting their offer. Despite the mess that overtook parts of her life, Quinn still liked to maintain her pride.

Santana opted to stay in town given her terrible track record with her family and holidays. Additionally, she was still doing a lot of promotion and press for the Ghost Story album, which required her to stay in the city. She was only too happy to have a good excuse to remain in New York, with her annoying but loveable roommates, and start their own Thanksgiving traditions.

A timer went off behind Santana, jarring her from her thoughts. She didn't know how long she'd been standing there, knife in hand, and poised over a pile of half-chopped potatoes. She'd been so lost in her scent-induced memory that she had completely zoned out. Kurt strode into the kitchen, giving her a weird cocked-eyebrow glance.

"Are you alright there, Santana? You've been cutting up the same potato for the past ten minutes," he pointed out, checking on his turkey. Santana nodded numbly and resumed cutting.

"I'm fine. I was thinking… that's all," she mumbled as she finished dicing. Kurt rolled his eyes and basted the turkey again. "Are you sure you're not a lesbian there, Lady Hummel? You're pretty good with that baster." Santana chuckled as he gave her a sour look.

Kurt slid the bird back into the oven and shut the door. "I'm one hundred percent gay man last time I checked, Santana," he wiggled the baster in front of her face. She recoiled with a grimace. "You can borrow this for you and Britt when I'm done with it."

"What are you even talking about?" She grumbled, collecting the pieces of potato in a large bowl next to the cutting board. Kurt crossed his arms, setting the baster down on top of the counter.

"_What am I talking about_?" He parroted back to her. "I'm talking about the fact that you two have been '_not dating'_ for months now and the sexual tension is _positively stifling_. Given the stereotypes about lesbians, I would think that you two would have U-Hauled and gotten three cats by now. The next step would obviously be starting a little family… hence the turkey baster."

Santana turned around to shoot him a death stare. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean by any of that. Brittany and I are taking things slow. We're just two friends spending Thanksgiving together in the city. That's all."

"But you're also two friends who obviously want to _fuck each other's brains out_ and _blatantly_ eye-fuck one another _constantly_ in mixed company—all the while calling what you're doing _being casual_."

"Whatever," Santana dismissed, returning to the cutting board. She sliced up a few more potatoes before glancing over at Kurt who was still staring at her, arms crossed over his chest. "The only thing around here getting any action is Berry's noisy-ass vibrator." She made the comment loud enough so that it could be heard throughout the loft. Her reward was the sound of Rachel grumbling from the living room; her roommate didn't exactly refute the statement. Santana turned back to Kurt, catching him looking slightly uncomfortable at the mention of Rachel's more intimate activities. "You'd better not mention anything to Britt. The last thing we both need is to let our rampant hormones fuck up what we've got going."

"You'd better sort your shit out soon, Santana, or else your _rampant hormones_ are bound to make a move for you," Kurt advised, snatching up an uncooked carrot from a bowl on the kitchen table. He observed Santana chop a potato in half with a particularly firm wrist flick. "Hmm… judging by that little forearm action, I'd assume that Rachel's not the only one around here with some _rampant hormone-latent frustrated_ _urges_." Santana narrowed her eyes at him, choosing to ignore this last comment.

Departing from the topic at hand, he looked over the mess of ingredients on the table. Santana had apparently amassed things to make macaroni and cheese, but one box sitting beside the uncooked pasta and blocks of cheddar to shred that seemed out of place. "Why do you have… goldfish crackers for the mac and cheese?" Kurt questioned, moving to open the cardboard to get at the bag inside. He would have succeeded had Santana not snatched the box from his hands.

"Leave it, Lady," she warned, replacing it on the table with the other ingredients. "That's for Brittany. Her mom always makes homemade macaroni and cheese for Thanksgiving. Instead of bread crumbs on top, Mrs. Pierce always used smashed up cheddar goldfish—because they're Britt's favorite."

"So you're going out of your way to make her mom's recipe?"

Santana shrugged, popping the now diced potatoes into a boiling pot on the small stove. "Britt _always_ eats it _every_ Thanksgiving. I didn't want her to miss out."

Kurt made no effort to mock her sappy behavior. He just sort of looked squishy for a moment. "Santana… that's unbelievably sweet of you." He didn't miss the flush that colored her neck as he complimented her. Years ago, he never could have imagined that he'd get the privilege to see this side of her. "Speaking of Britt, when's she coming over?"

Santana glanced at the clock above the fridge. "She got done in the studio at four. She'll probably shower and get here by five?" She had approximately forty-five minutes to get the mac and cheese in the oven before the blonde was due at the loft. It was supposed to be a surprise after all. Kurt eyed the time along with her, working out how much work they had to do before she got there.

"I'll take over the potatoes, ok? That way you can melt the cheese and stuff." He rolled up the sleeves on his cream sweater.

The old Santana would have had trouble accepting help. She might have made some biting comment about how Hummel would do more good on the couch with Rachel and Quinn and fawning over Meryl Streep. The new, more mature Santana didn't say that. She wasn't rude or demeaning. Instead, she fought back her pride and found herself hugging her roommate swiftly. Without words, he knew that it was her way of telling him that, despite her occasional attitude, she was thankful for him too.

* * *

Brittany felt remarkably grown up. She climbed the stairs to her friends' loft and pondered how different life was now from where she was a year ago. Last year, she'd spent Thanksgiving at her aunt's house in Columbus. Sam had spent the majority of the day texting her to repeatedly tell her that he was thinking of her, missing her even. She'd responded in turn, but without her usual fervor. They had just started dating by that point and she was unused to seeing a different name starting with 's' gracing her text message box.

Brittany didn't get a hold of Santana that Thanksgiving. She'd given the brunette space and distance, like they'd talked about. That didn't mean that the other girl was far from her thoughts. She started several text messages that all seemed to say the same thing: _I know we're apart, but I'm still thankful for you_—or something along those lines. But she'd never sent them. She didn't have the right to tell Santana those things anymore. Those unsent messages sat in her inbox and reminded her of what she was missing that holiday. Now, things were infinitely different. She was a dozen steps from Santana's door. Brittany would be spending Thanksgiving with her friends and the girl she adored in New York City. She talked with her parents back in Lima on the phone earlier, promising them that she was happy but still missed them.

Brittany had barely been able to run through her routine at the studio that afternoon; she was too excited to get to Bushwick. The dance she'd been working on was to audition for a spring show at Juilliard. At the end of the semester, she'd have to perform for a panel of judges, who would decide which students could participate. Thus, Brittany had spent every free minute choreographing a routine to try to incorporate various dance techniques into a three-and-a-half minute number. Glee club was good practice for this sort of thing, she'd discovered; she was already proficient at employing her talents to create visually interesting performance pieces. She'd have to remember to email Mr. Shue and thank him for constantly putting pressure on her to come up with all the dance numbers in high school.

She wasn't going to worry about the routine now, Brittany promised herself as she adjusted her skirt upon reaching the metal sliding door. She was going to savor this time with her friends and enjoy spending the holiday with people she really cared about. She knocked firmly.

It took only a few seconds for the door to be wrenched open in front of her. Santana peaked out at her through the gap and grinned sheepishly.

"Hi! Come on in!" the brunette welcomed, stepping aside to make room for the other girl. She looked positively adorable with a floral apron on, Brittany noticed as she shrugged her jacket off. Santana took the opportunity to lean in and kiss her briefly on the cheek before departing to put Brittany's coat on her bed. Before the blonde could do anything else, she was bombarded with greetings and hugs from the others. It had been months since she'd seen Quinn and pleasantly noted how mature and put together her friend looked.

"Quinn!" She shrieked, pulling the other blonde into a long, full-bodied hug. "I've missed you."

Her old friend just smirked and did a brief, exaggerated Vanna White arm gesture. "It's me—in the flesh. Come sit with me and dish about what's been going on since I last saw you…" Brittany allowed herself to be pulled to the living room with only enough time to shoot Santana a smile on the way there.

* * *

Santana watched with appreciation as Kurt expertly plated the perfectly cooked turkey. He arranged some springs of sage around it on a large, vintage piece of china he'd bought second-hand last week. She had to hand it to him: despite being utterly useless ninety-eight percent of the time, he had a certain flair for presentation. The live demonstration ended quickly, with the small ding of a timer behind her. She immediately swiveled to seek out the hot mitts, pausing to slide them on over her small hands, before removing a bubbling casserole dish from the oven. The macaroni and cheese she'd slaved over was cooked to perfection, from the gooey cheddar to the crisp browned goldfish crackers on top. It looked and smelled exactly like Mrs. Pierce's did, Santana was proud to note. She set the heavy dish down on a pad next to the turkey, which Kurt had situated in the middle of the table as the "pièce de résistance" (his words).

"Something smells amazing in here," a voice commented from behind Santana. Brittany materialized close by her side, eying the spread on the table. The brunette watched as her face softened when she spotted the side, fresh out of the oven. "San, you made my mom's mac and cheese?"

Suddenly, Santana felt bashful. It was obvious that she'd done it purely to make the blonde happy. "Um yeah. I had her email me her recipe. I knew that it was your favorite part of Thanksgiving. Since you're not in Lima this year, I didn't want you to miss out."

The blonde cocked her head, looking taken aback. "That's so sweet of you," she cooed, pulling the other girl into a hug. Brittany wrapped her arms securely around Santana's neck, keeping their faces impossibly close. "You're wrong though, San. That mac and cheese isn't my favorite part of Thanksgiving… you are. You should already know that I'm most thankful for you." With that, Brittany ventured to lean in and planted a soft, sweet kiss on the other girl's neck, which was the closest patch of skin her mouth could reach. She could feel Santana shiver beneath her touch. The prospect of making her shiver seemed more delicious than the meal.

That thought was soon dashed, as the others emerged from the living room, ready to start the meal. Reluctantly, they parted. Santana, still somewhat dizzy from Brittany's peck, procured a bottle of wine from the icebox and opened it as the others took their seats. If she could count on her friends for anything, it was their innate ability to ruin her increasingly romantic moments with Brittany. Her anger over the intrusion was soon forgotten as Kurt lifted his wine glass once everyone was seated.

"Ladies, I wanted to raise a toast to the inaugural Friendsgiving meal before us. This is the start of a tradition that I hope to continue for years to come. Nothing is better than spending this day with all of you—especially since if I were at home in Lima right now, I'd be enduring my Aunt Ida asking me if I'd found a nice girl yet," he mused with a smirk. "That said, I would like to offer the right to carve this delicious, perfectly cooked turkey before us… to Santana." With that, he held a serrated knife out to her.

Santana furrowed her eyes at Kurt while making no move to take the utensil he was offering. "Why do I have to do it?"

Kurt shrugged. "You're the most butch one here. I can't risk a stain to this," he gestured to his sweater, "its one hundred percent cashmere."

Santana briefly considered tossing her glass of wine onto Kurt's expensive cream top, but decided against it in the spirit of the holiday. She just rolled her eyes and took the knife from him. "Fine, Lady Hummel. But you're getting the neck."

Kurt's turkey was actually well worth the "butch" insult. He went into the exhausting details of his brining process while Santana carved up pieces to the others, who actively ignored him. He shut up eventually when he realized that no one cared, especially not Rachel who then launched into a diatribe about how her grey _tofurkey_ was more nutritionally sound and environmentally conscious than eating meat.

Santana couldn't help but to pause mid-meal to glance around at the company surrounding her. She was happy. Whether it was the wine, the delicious food, or the fact that she'd watched Brittany eat two giant helpings of her mac and cheese with a grin on her face, something felt perfect about the moment.

"It's a Thanksgiving tradition in the Berry household," Rachel suddenly piped up, garnering everyone's attention, "to go around the table and everyone say one thing they're thankful for. I thought we could make that part of our Friendsgiving tradition too."

Quinn poured herself some more wine and nodded along. It was clear from her body language how pleasantly drunk she was. "Excellent idea. I'll start," she offered. "I'm thankful that my terrible roommate Stacey has recently decided to switch dorm rooms. I convinced Puck to call me every night for the past month so we could engage in loud, abrasive fake arguments while she was trying to study. Sure enough, as soon as another room became available, Stacey was out of there. Ladies and gentleman, I have won the war." Everyone cheered as Quinn raised her wine glass to celebrate.

"I'll go next," Rachel announced. "I'm thankful that I found the perfect song yesterday—one that employs my full vocal range and demonstrates my infinite talent for the NYADA winter showcase. It's a Barbra song… should I sing a few bars?" Everyone interrupted her with a resounding 'no.'

Then it was Kurt's turn. "I am thankful for Christos—that incredibly hot Greek bartender I met at the Ghost Story release party. _He is a Greek god_," he winked. "His abs are… just fantastic. Seriously—it's like they've been cut from marble."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Gross, Hummel. No one wants to hear about the _rock hard business_ your man-friend has going on," she groaned before sipping her wine.

Kurt grunted at her disapprovingly. "Santana, need I remind you that three and a half people at this table approve of my description of that boy's chiseled body?" Rachel and Quinn nodded along with him.

"I don't know if you should count me as a half, Kurt," Brittany suddenly cut in. "I'm not interested in dating any men right now." She remarked, stealing a glance at Santana. She blushed furiously. "Ok, my turn," she carried on before anyone could comment further. "I'm thankful for Janet McPherson, the first dance teacher I had when I was three." Everyone fell silent.

"Why are you thankful for her?" Quinn asked on behalf of everyone else.

"She was the first person who fostered my love of dancing. She was my teacher until I was eight," Brittany explained, pushing around some food on her plate absentmindedly. "If she hadn't made dance fun, I might not have continued it all these years. Then I might not have had a chance to audition for Juilliard—because that wouldn't have been my dream—and I could be still stuck in Ohio. Because of her, I was good enough to be accepted and I could come here, to New York, where Santana is. And I'm also thankful that I'm here." She said it as though her reasoning was obvious.

Santana just gawked at her, totally surprised by the blonde's statement. She owed something to Janet McPherson too, she realized. That woman had, years ago, set into motion a chain of dominos that would result in Brittany's move to New York and their chance to rekindle their once-decrepit relationship. This dance teacher had showed young Brittany how to have confidence in herself and her talents, something that she had held tight to since then.

Brittany's smile, peering over at her through a curtain of blonde hair, squeezed something in Santana. It reminded her of that feeling you get when you find something that you've lost: a relief and a joy that cascades throughout your nerves. She felt like she had been missing that smile for so long that she couldn't fathom how she survived without it. Brittany's soft voice prodded her back to reality. "San, it's your turn. What are you thankful for?"

She wondered how much of herself to share. How forward would it be to throw caution to the wind and just announce to the table that she was thankful that Brittany was there with her again—because without the blonde a huge chunk of heart was just gone? That the girl beside her represented every single thing Santana wanted to accomplish, to strive to become, to work to achieve? Should she say she was thankful that she was making good money at her new job because she was secretly stockpiling away funds so that she could afford a place with Brittany—just the two of them—someday? That or a ring. Santana had decided on it without any second thoughts; those were the two reasons why she wanted to save her money.

"Um, I'm thankful for…" Santana trailed off, meeting Brittany's eyes full on. The blue shone brightly, encouraging her to dive into them and get lost. "I'm thankful for this moment, with all of you right now- I couldn't be any happier," she settled on. Her hand snaked under the table to link pinkies with Brittany. "I'm also grateful for Janet McPherson too though."

Santana felt Brittany's finger squeeze hers firmly. It told her, without words, that she and the other girl were on the same page, felt the same things. She made a mental note to send Janet McPherson an anonymous thank you card as soon as possible.

* * *

Santana watched Brittany play with their intertwined fingers as they reclined on the couch together. Their bodies sunk into the softness, leaving them close to one another. She was trying to focus on something else: the TV, Kurt's incessant ramblings from the armchair about the new fashion blog he was trying to start up featuring stylish homeless people, or the suspicious whispering from Quinn and Rachel in the kitchen as they did the dishes. In truth, it was hard to pay attention to those things because Brittany's nimble digits were sending slow, sure tingles up and down her arm. She chose to focus on the empty bottles of wine sitting on the coffee table. She interrupted Kurt's nonsense suddenly. "Did you guys drink all those?" She inquired.

Kurt glanced over at the discarded glass. "Quinn and Rachel did. Haven't you noticed that they've been drinking all day together? They're both pretty much hammered right now." As if to emphasize his point, they all heard Rachel giggle from the kitchen—and then hiccup loudly.

"Am I the only one who thinks they're flirting?" Brittany suddenly asked. Kurt and Santana both stared at her, trying to gauge the seriousness of her question. Brittany rolled her eyes at them. "I'm serious. They kept making eyes at one another during dinner."

"You're kidding," Kurt's mouth dropped open, shocked. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Brittany reassured him, still touching Santana's soft hand. "I know all about making eyes at someone, Kurt. _I've_ been making eyes at Santana all evening."

Santana shuddered deliciously at this, letting Brittany's fingers move to her forearm. Kurt watched her obvious reaction and then shifted to peer into the kitchen at Rachel and Quinn. They were bent over the sink together, their shoulders rubbing against one another. He looked back at the two girls on the couch again; Santana was almost purring from Brittany's languidly sensual touches. He rolled his eyes and shuddered.

"I'm taking two Ambien, tying my sleep mask to my face and using my earplugs tonight," he announced with a grimace. "There's no way I want to be able to utilize _any_ of my senses tonight; I'd be scarred for life."

Kurt wasn't kidding. Santana was brushing her teeth when she watched him down two sleeping pills from the cabinet while clutching his night mask in his hand. He wished her a pleasant evening and disappeared into his curtained room to escape from reality. Their suspicions had only been reaffirmed minutes earlier when Quinn announced that instead of sleeping on the couch, she was just going to share Rachel's bed. Kurt and Santana had managed to restrain themselves from snapping their necks to catch the triumphant _told-you-so _grin on Brittany's face. After that, Quinn and Rachel bid them all goodnight and raced off to bed.

Santana wasn't really thinking about whatever gross action might be going on in Rachel's room. Instead, she was more focused on the blonde she knew was waiting for her under soft blankets in her bed. She used some mouthwash and spit it out quickly, impatient to finish her nightly beauty routine. All she could picture was Brittany's soft fingers on her forearm while they were on the couch, etching invisible patterns in her skin. She wanted those sensations somewhere else now.

Brittany was staring at the ceiling when she stepped in through the curtains. The girl grinned at her and watched as Santana stripped to just a pair boy-cut black underwear and a grey tank top before joining her in the bed. Santana tried to not be obvious as her eyes raked over the blonde's lithe body, clad in nothing but that old cheer camp tee shirt and a pair of tiny pink panties. Brittany caught her, of course.

"You're allowed to look, San," she whispered as the other girl settled down next to her, pulling the blankets up to cover them both. They fell silent for a moment, until Brittany's hand found Santana's beneath the sheet.

"Do you remember that Thanksgiving that I spent with your family?" Santana suddenly asked aloud.

Brittany squeezed her hand. "Of course I do. Why?"

Santana turned her head on the pillow to stare into blue eyes. "I used to think _that_ was my favorite Thanksgiving ever," she explained softly, her gaze tracing over the shape of the blonde's lips. "But now I think _this_ Thanksgiving, here in New York with you, is my new favorite." Brittany's smile beamed at her.

"I think I agree with you, San. Best Thanksgiving ever," the blonde giggled, shifting to lay on her side so she could give her undivided attention to Santana. "Can I ask you something?"

The brunette didn't even pause. "You can ask me anything, Britt."

"Are we dating?"

Santana didn't know what to say back. They were supposed to be attempting a casual friendship, but for some reason it didn't really feel like that's all they were doing anymore. She watched Brittany's eyes search hers for answers.

"I don't want to rush things," Brittany whispered so only they could hear. "But it is getting a little tiring to pretend like I don't want to be with you—like… be _with_ you. I know that you probably think calling _this_ between us a _relationship_ is moving too fast… but could we at least agree that we're dating? If we were dating, even casually, then I wouldn't have to worry about how friends don't make out… and we could go out on dates and stuff."

"You want to make out and go out on dates and… stuff?" Santana asked, her words coming out breathing and fast. In truth, her heart was beating so quickly that it was hard not to feel light-headed at Brittany's suggestion. She received a nod in return. Santana touched the other girl's cheek softly, laying her palm against it. "Alright. I guess we're dating then." She couldn't help but smile.

"Now, I'm thankful for that," the blonde admitted, savoring Santana's hot touch against her face. "And we're allowed to kiss and stuff?"

Santana paused for a moment. "I want to kiss you… but maybe we should move slow on the _stuff_."

"We'll move as slow as you want," Brittany offered. As innocent as her words were, it was hard to ignore the fact that her fingers had started to graze Santana's exposed thigh under the blanket. The brunette shuddered at the touch. She had forgotten how persuasive Brittany could be, especially when she used her fingers as a bargaining tool.

The blonde leaned in slowly, inch by inch, until her lips were a fraction away from Santana's. Such delicious torture, the brunette thought to herself, before crashing their lips together finally. Moments later, hands found purchase on the skin of arms and thighs and fingers sought out hair to tangle into. Santana worked hard not to moan too loudly as Brittany tongue slowly dragged across the skin of her lip. It was difficult not to immediately lose control when she felt her body react to the blonde's and to then ignore the throbbing dampness growing between her legs.

After their kissing grew more and more passionate, her head started to get a little cloudy as her raging hormones pumped through her. Before she could think twice, Santana found she was shifting her weight so that she was lying on Brittany, their bodies intertwined. The blonde's strong thigh lodged itself between her legs and arched into her body with just the right amount of pressure. Santana couldn't help but to grind down on it, causing her own thigh to send the same shivers through Brittany.

Their mouths, still fighting for dominance against one another, exchanged breathy moans as they realized how good each other felt. It had been so long since anyone touched her in such a sensual way, Santana quickly realized. Brittany's whole body was still so attuned to her own that it was a marvel that they'd gone this long without losing any of the intimacy. They weren't even really _touching_ one another, considering they were just grinding with their clothes on. Both knew that despite the circumstances or the presence of fabric barriers between their skin, what they were doing still felt like some sort of reverent act. Santana was never really wholly lost in the moment because Brittany was always there, maintaining eye contact and listening to her body for what she needed.

Maybe Santana should have been embarrassed that her first time with Brittany after being apart for so long entailed rutting against one another. With every cant of her hips, she cared less and less about that, and more about how much she'd missed this connection between them. They understood one another so perfectly that she felt no need to worry about whether or not Brittany cared that Santana's fingers were clutching her shoulder rather than sliding inside her. She knew that Brittany was selfless when it came to making love. It was about the experience, the orgasm was just a bonus. So she felt no shame when she allowed the blonde to watch her unravel as a strong thigh found the perfect rhythm against her undulating body. She _wanted_ Brittany to watch her face as she came and to know that she alone was responsible for it. Santana _needed_ her to understand that all this time… Brittany still possessed the ability to bring her to that point where everything was flashes of light and overwhelming pleasure.

Santana gave that to the blonde, knowing full well that she would receive the same in full. Brittany waited patiently, bringing her down from the peak of her orgasm, before she whimpered quietly. Santana gave no second thought to dropping her hand low and cupping the blonde through her panties. She could feel hot stickiness seep onto her palm as she worked against the blonde; she savored that she elicited such tangible proof of Brittany's desire for her and her alone. She knew the blonde so well that within a few short minutes, Brittany was clinging to her torso, biting her exposed shoulder in an attempt to keep from making too much noise as she came. Then the body below hers went limp and Santana followed suit.

In the past, this was the time that she might have slipped off. She would have made up some excuse to get dressed, leaving a somber and disappointed Brittany alone in bed post-sex. Santana was no longer that person. Now, she cuddled up to the blonde, burying her face into the other girl's neck and showering her with light kisses. She didn't panic when strong arms surrounded her and held her close, making her feel protected and safe. She didn't worry when neither one of them spoke. It wasn't really necessary; they both knew what the other was thinking anyway.

Even if it wasn't the right time to say it aloud, they both knew the words that were on the tips of their tongues. Santana almost said them as she drifted off into sleep, inhaling the sweet scent of Brittany's skin. The blonde, in turn, almost said them as she place a soft kiss on the brunette's forehead before she closed her eyes completely. They were so close to slipping out and adding more emotional weight to the situation, but something kept those three words still buried in their respective mouths. It was the first time in a long time that neither girl uttered an _"I love you"_ after such an intimate act—but both realized that those unspoken words were still how they felt. Brittany and Santana, now saturated in sleep, knew those three words were just waiting for the right time to emerge from lips and tongues again.

* * *

**BRITTANA IS REAL. GO REVIEW!**


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